-  6)  P. 


BROTHERS    OF    PERIL 

A  Story  of  Old  Newfoundland 


WORKS  OF 

THEODORE 


The  Tied  Feathers  .  .  $1.50 
Brothers  of  'Peril  .  .  130 
Hemming  the  Jldoenturer  1  .50 


L.  C  PAGE   &   COMPANY 

New  England  Building,     Boston,     Mass. 


M  A   VIVID    CIRCLE    OF    RED    ON    THE   SNOW    OF   THAT 
NAMELESS    WILDERNESS  " 


Brothers  of  Peril 

A  Story  of  Old  Newfoundland 


By 

Theodore   Roberts    ™^ 

Author  of  "Hemming,  the  Adventurer"      wt^ 

0 

Illustrated  by    H.    C.    Edwards 


fci»;5^SS*^3^£:Z^«S5*E^» 
gft%^^2^S?&y^^ 

Boston    *    L.    C.    Page    df     ^S 
Company     |»     M  d  c  c  c  c  v 


Copyright, 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
All  rights  reserved 


Published  June,  1905 
Second    Impression,    March,  1908 


COLONIAL   PRESS 

Eltctrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  fy  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A  • 


Preface 


DURING  the  three  centuries  directly  following 
John  Cabot's  discovery  of  Newfoundland,  that  un- 
fortunate island  was  the  sport  of  careless  kings,  self- 
ish adventurers,  and  diligent  pirates.  While  Eng- 
land, France,  Spain,  and  Portugal  were  busy  with 
courts  and  kings,  and  with  spectacular  battles,  their 
fishermen  and  adventurers  toiled  together  and 
fought  together  about  the  misty  headlands  of  that 
far  island.  Fish,  not  glory,  was  their  quest!  Full 
cargoes,  sweetly  cured,  was  their  desire  —  and  let 
fame  go  hang! 

The  merchants  of  England  undertook  the  guar- 
dianship of  the  "  Newfounde  Land."  In  greed,  in 
valour,  and  in  achievement  they  won  their  mastery. 
Their  greed  was  a  two-edged  sword  which  cut  all 
'round.  It  hounded  the  aborigines;  it  bullied  the 
men  of  France  and  Spain;  it  discouraged  the 
settlement  of  the  land  by  stout  hearts  of  whatever 
nationality.  It  was  the  dream  of  those  merchant 
adventurers  of  Devon  to  have  the  place  remain 


2137932 


vi  Preface 

for  ever  nothing  but  a  fishing-station.  They  faced 
the  pirates,  the  foreign  fishers,  the  would-be  settlers, 
and  the  natural  hardships  with  equal  fortitude  and 
insolence.  When  some  philosopher  dreamed  of 
founding  plantations  in  the  king's  name  and  to  the 
glory  of  God,  England,  and  himself,  then  would  the 
greedy  merchants  slay  or  cripple  the  philosopher's 
dream  in  the  very  palace  of  the  king.  Ay,  they 
were  powerful  enough  at  court,  though  so  little 
remarked  in  the  histories  of  the  times!  But,  ever 
and  anon,  some  gentleman  adventurer,  or  humble 
fisherman  from  the  ships,  would  escape  their  vigi- 
lance and  strike  a  blow  at  the  inscrutable  wilderness. 
The  fishing  admirals  loom  large  in  the  history 
of  the  island.  They  were  the  hands  and  eyes  of 
the  wealthy  merchants.  The  master  of  the  first 
vessel  to  enter  any  harbour  at  the  opening  of  the 
season  was,  for  a  greater  or  lesser  period  of  time, 
admiral  and  judge  of  that  harbour.  It  was  his  duty 
to  parcel  out  anchorage,  and  land  on  which  to  dry 
fish,  to  each  ship  in  the  harbour;  to  see  that  no 
sailors  from  the  fleet  escaped  into  the  woods;  to 
discourage  any  visions  of  settlement  which  sight  of 
the  rugged  forests  might  raise  in  the  romantic 
heads  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  fleet;  to  see  that  all 
foreigners  were  hustled  on  every  occasion,  and  to 
take  the  best  of  everything  for  himself.  Needless 


Preface 


vn 


to  say,  it  was  a  popular  position  with  the  hard- 
fisted  skippers. 

In  the  narratives  of  the  early  explorers  frequent 
mention  is  made  of  the  peaceful  nature  of  the  abo- 
rigines. At  first  they  displayed  unmistakable  signs 
of  friendly  feeling.  They  were  all  willingness  to 
trade  with  the  loud-mouthed  strangers  from  over 
the  eastern  horizon.  They  helped  at  the  fishing, 
and  at  the  hunting  of  seals  and  caribou.  They 
bartered  priceless  pelts  for  iron  hatchets  and  glass 
trinkets.  Later,  however,  we  read  of  treachery  and 
murder  on  the  parts  of  both  the  visitors  and  the 
natives.  The  itch  of  slave-dealing  led  some  of  the 
more  daring  shipmasters  and  adventurers  to  capture, 
and  carry  back  to  England,  Beothic  braves  and 
maidens.  Many  of  the  kidnapped  savages  were 
kindly  treated  and  made  companions  of  by  English 
noblemen  and  gentlefolk.  It  is  recorded  that  more 
than  one  Beothic  brave  sported  a  sword  at  his  hip 
in  fashionable  places  of  London  Town  before  Death 
cut  the  silken  bonds  of  his  motley  captivity. 

Master  John  Guy,  an  alderman  of  Bristol,  who 
obtained  a  Royal  Charter  in  1610,  to  settle  and 
develop  Newfoundland,  wrote  of  the  Beothics  as 
a  kindly  and  mild-mannered  race.  Of  their  physi- 
cal characteristics  he  says :  "  They  are  of  middle 
size,  broad-chested,  and  very  erect.  .  .  .  Their 


viii  Preface 

hair  is  diverse,  some  black,  some  brown,  and  some 
yellow." 

As  to  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  Beothics  there  are 
several  suppositions.  An  aged  Micmac  squaw,  who 
lives  on  Hall's  Bay,  Notre  Dame  Bay,  says  that  her 
father,  in  his  youth,  knew  the  last  of  the  Beothics. 
At  that  time  —  something  over  a  hundred  years 
ago  —  the  race  numbered  between  one  and  two  hun- 
dred souls.  They  made  periodical  excursions  to  the 
salt  water  to  fish,  and  to  trade  with  a  few  friendly 
whites  and  Nova  Scotian  Micmacs.  But,  for  the 
most  part,  they  avoided  the  settlements.  They  had 
reason  enough  for  so  doing,  for  many  of  the  settlers 
considered  a  lurking  Beothic  as  fair  a  target  for 
his  buckshot  as  a  bear  or  caribou.  One  November 
day  a  party  of  Micmac  hunters  tried  to  follow  the 
remnant  of  the  broken  race  on  their  return  trip  to 
the  great  wilderness  of  the  interior.  The  trail  was 
lost  in  a  fall  of  snow  on  the  night  of  the  first  day 
of  the  journey.  And  there,  with  the  obliterated 
trail,  ends  the  world's  knowledge  of  the  original 
inhabitants  of  Newfoundland;  save  of  one  woman 
of  the  race  named  Mary  March,  who  died,  a  self- 
ordained  fugitive  about  the  outskirts  of  civilization, 
some  ninety  years  ago. 

To-day  there  are  a  few  bones  in  the  museum  at 
St.  John's.  One  hears  stories  of  grassy  circles  be- 


Preface  ix 

side  the  lakes  and  rivers,  where  wigwams  once  stood. 
Flint  knives  and  arrow-heads  are  brought  to  light 
with  the  turning  of  the  farmer's  furrow.  But  the 
language  of  the  lost  tribe  is  forgotten,  and  the  his- 
tory of  it  is  unrecorded. 

In  the  following  tale  I  have  drawn  the  wilderness 
of  that  far  time  in  the  likeness  of  the  wilderness 
as  I  knew  it,  and  loved  it,  a  few  short  years  ago. 
The  seasons  bring  their  oft-repeated  changes  to 
brown  barren,  shaggy  wood,  and  empurpled  hill; 
but  the  centuries  pass  and  leave  no  mark.  I  have 
dared  to  resurrect  an  extinct  tribe  for  the  purposes 
of  fiction.  I  have  drawn  inspiration  from  the  spirit 
of  history  rather  than  the  letter!  But  the  heart  of 
the  wilderness,  and  the  hearts  of  men  and  women, 
I  have  pictured,  in  this  romance  of  olden  time,  as 
I  know  them  to-day.  T.  R. 

November,  1904. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I.  A  BOY  WINS  His  MAN -NAME          .        .        i 

II.  THE    OLD    CRAFTSMAN    BY    THE     SALT 

WATER 9 

III.  THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  MEADOW  16 

IV.  OUENWA   SETS  OUT  ON  A  VAGUE  QUEST      24 
V.  THE  ADMIRAL  OF  THE  HARBOUR      .        .      34 

VI.  THE  FANGS  OF  THE  WOLF  SLAYER  .        .      43 

VII.  THE  SILENT  VILLAGE         ....      56 

VIII.  A  LETTER  FOR  OUENWA    ....      65 

IX.  AN  UNCHARTERED  PLANTATION        .        .      73 

X.  GENTRY  AT  FORT  BEATRIX       ...      83 

XI.  THE  SETTING -IN  OF  WINTER    ...      94 

XII.  MEDITATION  AND  ACTION  ....     104 

XIII.  SIGNS  OF  A  DIVIDED  HOUSE     .        .        .116 

XIV.  A  TRICK  OF  PLAY-ACTING       .        .        .     126 

XV.  THE  HIDDEN  MENACE        .        .        .        .     133 

XVI.     THE  CLOVEN  HOOF 140 

XVII.  THE  CONFIDENCE  OF  YOUTH     .        .        .148 

XVIII.  EVENTS  AND  REFLECTIONS        .        .        .156 

XIX.     Two  OF  A  KIND 164 

XX.  BY  ADVICE  OF  BLACK  FEATHER       .        .174 

XXI.  THE  SEEKING  OF  THE  TRIBESMEN    .        .183 

XXII.  BRAVE  DAYS  FOR  YOUNG  HEARTS    .        .     190 

XXIII.  BETROTHED                                                          200 


Xll 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGB 

XXIV.     A  FIRE -LIT  BATTLE.   OUENWA'S  RETURN  207 
XXV.     FATE  DEALS  CARDS  OF   BOTH   COLOURS 

IN  THE  LITTLE  FORT     .        .        .        .217 
XXVI.     PIERRE     D'ANTONS     PARRIES     ANOTHER 

THRUST 227 

XXVII.    A  GRIM  TURN  OF  MARCH  MADNESS        .  233 

XXVIII.    THE  RUNNING  OF  THE  ICE        .        .        .  241 
XXIX.     WOLF    SLAYER    COMES   AND   GOES  ;  AND 

TROWLEY  RECEIVES  A  VISITOR      .        .  252 
XXX.     MAGGIE  STONE  TAKES  MUCH  UPON  HER- 
SELF           264 

XXXI.     WHILE  THE  SPARS  ARE  SCRAPED     .        .  273 
XXXII.     THE    FIRST    STAGE   OF   THE   HOMEWARD 

VOYAGE  Is  BRAVELY  ACCOMPLISHED    .  279 

XXXIII.  IN  THE  MERRY  CITY         .        .        .        .287 

XXXIV.  PIERRE  D'ANTONS  SIGNALS  His  OLD  COM- 

RADES, AND  AGAIN  PUTS  TO  SEA  .        .  294 
XXXV.     THE    BRIDEGROOM    ATTENDS    TO    OTHER 

MATTERS  THAN  LOVE    ....  306 

XXXVI.     OVER  THE  SIDE 317 

XXXVII.     THE  MOTHER 323 


BROTHERS    OF    PERIL 

A  Story   of  Old  Newfoundland 


CHAPTER   I. 

A   BOY    WINS    HIS    MAN  -  NAME 

THE  boy  struck  again  with  his  flint  knife,  and 
again  the  great  wolf  tore  at  his  shoulder.  The 
eyes  of  the  boy  were  fierce  as  those  of  the  beast. 
Neither  wavered.  Neither  showed  any  sign  of  pain. 
The  dark  spruces  stood  above  them,  with  the  first 
shadows  of  night  in  their  branches;  and  the  west- 
ern sky  was  stained  red  where  the  sun  had  been. 
Twice  the  wolf  dropped  his  antagonist's  shoulder, 
in  a  vain  attempt  to  grip  the  throat.  The  boy, 
pressed  to  the  ground,  flung  himself  about  like  a 
dog,  and  repeatedly  drove  his  clumsy  weapon  into 
the  wolf's  shaggy  side. 

At  last  the  fight  ended.     The  great  timber-wolf 


Brothers  of  Peril 


lay  stretched  dead  in  awful  passiveness.  His  fangs 
gleamed  like  ivory  between  the  scarlet  jaws  and 
black  lips.  A  shimmer  of  white  menaced  the  quiet 
wilderness  from  the  recesses  of  the  half-shut  eye- 
lids. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  boy  lay  still,  with  the 
fingers  of  his  left  hand  buried  in  the  wolf's  mane, 
and  his  right  hand  a  blot  of  red  against  the  beast's 
side.  Presently,  staggering  on  bent  legs,  he  went 
down  to  the  river  and  washed  his  mangled  arm  and 
shoulder  in  the  cool  water.  The  shock  of  it  cleared 
his  brain  and  steadied  his  eyes.  He  waded  into  the 
current  to  his  middle,  stooped  to  the  racing  sur- 
face, and  drank  unstintingly.  Strength  flooded  back 
to  blood  and  muscle,  and  the  slender  limbs  regained 
their  lightness. 

By  this  time  a  few  pale  stars  gleamed  on  the 
paler  background  of  the  eastern  sky.  A  long  finger- 
streak  of  red,  low  down  on  the  hilltops,  still  light- 
ened the  west.  A  purple  band  hung  above  it  like 
a  belt  of  magic  wampum  —  the  war-belt  of  some 
mighty  god.  Above  that,  Night,  the  silent  hunter, 
set  up  the  walls  of  his  lodge  of  darkness. 

The  boy  saw  nothing  of  the  changing  beauty  of 
the  sky.  He  might  read  it,  knowingly  enough,  for 
the  morrow's  rain  or  frost ;  but  beyond  that  he  gave 
it  no  heed.  He  returned  to  the  dead  wolf,  and  set 


A  Boy  Wins  His  Man-Name          3 

about  the  skinning  o'f  it  with  his  rude  blade.  He 
worked  with  skill  and  speed.  Soon  head  and  pelt 
were  clear  of  the  red  carcass.  After  collecting  his 
arrows  and  bow,  he  flung  the  prize  across  his  shoul- 
der and  started  along  a  faint  trail  through  the 
spruces. 

The  trail  which  the  boy  followed  seemed  to  lead 
away  from'  the  river  by  hummock  and  hollow; 
and  yet  it  cunningly  held  to  the  course  of  the  stream. 
Now  the  night  was  fallen.  A  soft  wind  brushed 
over  in  the  tree-tops.  The  voices  of  the  rapids 
smote  across  the  air  with  a  deeper  note.  As  the 
boy  moved  quietly  along,  sharp  eyes  flamed  at  him, 
and  sharp  ears  were  pricked  to  listen.  Forms 
silent  as  shadows  faded  away  from  his  path,  and 
questioning  heads  were  turned  back  over  sinewy 
shoulders,  sniffing  silently.  They  smelt  the  wolf 
and  they  smelt  the  man.  They  knew  that  there 
had  been  another  violent  death  in  the  valley  of  the 
River  of  Three  Fires. 

After  walking  swiftly  for  nearly  an  hour,  fol- 
lowing a  path  which  less  primitive  eyes  could  not 
have  found,  the  boy  came  out  on  a  small  meadow 
bright  with  fires.  Nineteen  or  twenty  conical  wig- 
wams, made  of  birch  poles,  bark,  and  caribou  hides, 
stood  about  the  meadow.  In  front  of  each  wig- 
wam burned  a  cooking-fire,  for  this  was  a  land  of 


Brothers  of  Peril 


much  wood.  The  meadow  was  almost  an  island, 
having  the  river  on  two  sides  and  a  shallow  lagoon 
cutting  in  behind,  leaving  only  a  narrow  strip  of 
alder-grown  "  bottom  "  by  which  one  might  cross 
dry-shod.  The  whole  meadow,  including  the  alders 
and  a  clump  of  spruces,  was  not  more  than  five 
acres  in  extent. 

The  boy  halted  in  front  of  the  largest  lodge,  and 
threw  the  wolfskin  down  before  the  fire.  There 
he  stood,  straight  and  motionless,  with  an  air  of 
vast  achievement  about  him.  Two  women,  who 
were  broiling  meat  at  the  fire,  looked  from  the 
shaggy,  blood-stained  pelt  to  the  stalwart  stripling. 
They  cried  out  to  him,  softly,  in  tones  of  love  and 
admiration.  Jaws  and  fangs  and  half-shut  eyes 
appeared  frightful  enough  in  the  red  firelight,  even 
in  death. 

"  Ah !  ah !  "  they  cried,  "  what  warrior  has  done 
this  deed?" 

"  Now  give  me  my  man-name,"  demanded  the 
boy. 

The  older  of  the  two  women,  his  mother,  tried 
to  tend  his  wounded  arm ;  but  he  shook  her  roughly 
away.  She  seemed  accustomed  to  the  treatment. 
Still  clinging  to  him,  she  called  him  by  a  score  of 
great  names.  A  stalwart  man,  the  chief  of  the 
village,  strode  from  the  dark  interior  of  the  near- 


A  Boy  Wins  His  Man-Name          5 

est  wigwam,  and  glanced  from  his  son  to  the  un- 
tidy mass  of  hair  and  skin.  His  eyes  gleamed  at 
sight  of  his  boy's  torn  arm  and  the  white  teeth 
of  the  wolf. 

"  Wolf  Slayer,"  he  cried.  He  turned  to  the 
women.  "Wolf  Slayer,"  he  repeated;  "let  this 
be  his  man-name  —  Wolf  Slayer." 

So  this  boy,  son  of  Panounia  the  chief,  became, 
at  the  age  of  fourteen  years,  a  warrior  among  his 
father's  people. 

The  inhabitants  of  that  great  island  were  all  of 
one  race.  In  history  they  are  known  as  Beothics. 
At  the  time  of  this  tale  they  were  divided  into  two 
nations  or  tribes.  Hate  had  set  them  apart  from 
one  another,  breaking  the  old  bond  of  blood.  Each 
tribe  was  divided  into  numerous  villages.  The 
island  was  shared  pretty  evenly  between  the  na- 
tions. Soft  Hand  was  king  of  the  Northerners. 
It  was  of  one  of  his  camps  that  the  father  of  Wolf 
Slayer  was  chief. 

Soft  Hand  was  a  great  chief,  and  wise  beyond 
his  generation.  For  more  than  fifty  years  he  had 
held  the  richest  hunting-grounds  in  the  island 
against  the  enemy.  His  strength  had  been  of  both 
head  and  hand.  Now  he  was  stiff  with  great  age. 
Now  his  hair  was  gray  and  scanty,  and  unadorned 
by  flaming  feathers  of  hawk  and  sea-bird.  The 


Brothers  of  Peril 


snows  of  eighty  winters  had  drifted  against  the 
walls  of  his  perishable  but  ever  defiant  lodges,  and 
the  suns  of  eighty  summers  had  faded  the  pig- 
ments of  his  totem  of  the  great  Black  Bear. 
Though  he  was  slow  of  anger,  and  fair  in  judg- 
ment, his  people  feared  him  as  they  feared  no  other. 
Though  he  was  gentle  with  the  weak  and  young, 
and  had  honoured  his  parents  in  their  old  age  and 
loved  the  wife  of  his  youth,  still  the  strongest  war- 
rior dared  not  sneer. 

The  village  of  this  mighty  chief  was  situated 
at  the  head  of  Wind  Lake.  On  the  night  of  Wolf 
Slayer's  adventure,  Soft  Hand  and  his  grandson 
arrived  at  the  lesser  village  on  the  River  of  Three 
Fires.  They  travelled  in  bark  canoes  and  were 
accompanied  by  a  dozen  braves.  The  grandson 
of  the  old  chief  was  a  lad  of  about  Wolf  Slayer's 
age.  He  was  slight  of  figure  and  dark  of  skin. 
His  name  was  Ouenwa.  He  was  a  dreamer  of 
strange  things,  and  a  maker  of  songs.  He  and 
Wolf  Slayer  sat  together  by  the  fire.  Wolf  Slayer 
held  his  wounded  arm  ever  under  the  visitor's  eyes, 
and  talked  endlessly  of  his  deed.  For  a  long  time 
Ouenwa  listened  attentively,  smiling  and  polite,  as 
was  his  usual  way  with  strangers.  But  at  last  he 
grew  weary  of  his  companion's  talk.  He  wanted  to 
listen,  in  peace,  to  the  song  of  the  river.  How 


A  Boy  Wins  His  Man-Name          7 

could  he  understand  what  the  rapids  were  saying 
with  all  this  babbling  of  "  knife  "  and  "  wolf  "  in 
his  ears? 

"  All  this  wind,"  he  said,  "  would  kill  a  pack 
of  wolves,  or  even  the  black  cave-devil  himself." 

"  There  is  no  wind  to-night,"  replied  Wolf 
Slayer,  glancing  up  at  the  trees. 

"  There  is  a  mighty  wind  blowing  about  this 
fire,"  said  Ouenwa,  "  and  it  whistles  altogether  of 
a  great  warrior  who  slew  a  wolf." 

"  At  least  that  is  not  work  for  a  dreamer,"  re- 
torted the  other,  sullenly.  Ouenwa's  answer  was 
a  smile  as  soft  and  fleeting  as  the  light-shadows 
of  the  fire. 

At  an  early  hour  of  the  next  morning  the  great 
chief's  party  started  up-stream  in  their  canoes,  on 
the  return  journey  to  Wind  Lake.  For  hours  Soft 
Hand  brooded  in  silence,  deaf  to  his  grandson's 
hundred  questions.  He  had  grown  somewhat 
moody  in  the  last  year.  He  gazed  away  to  the 
forest-clad,  mist-wreathed  capes  ahead,  and  heeded 
not  the  high  piping  of  his  dead  son's  child.  His 
mind  was  busy  with  thoughts  of  the  events  of  the 
past  night.  He  recalled  the  tones  of  Panounia's 
voice  with  a  shake  of  the  head.  He  recalled  the 
sullen  smouldering  of  that  stalwart  chief's  eyes, 


8  Brothers  of  Peril 

He  sighed,  and  glanced  at  the  lad  in  the  forging 
craft  beside  him. 

"  I  grow  old,"  he  murmured.  "  The  voice  of 
my  power  is  breaking  to  its  last  echo.  My  com- 
mand over  my  people  slips  like  a  frozen  thong  of 
raw  leather.  And  Panounia!  What  lurks  in  the 
dull  brain  of  him  ?  " 

The  sun  rose  above  the  forest  spires,  clear  and 
warm.  The  mists  drew  skyward  and  melted  in  the 
gold-tinted  azure.  Twillegs  flew,  piping,  across  the 
brown  current  of  the  river.  Sandpipers,  on  down- 
bent  wings,  skimmed  the  pebbly  shore.  A  king- 
fisher flashed  his  burnished  feathers  and  screamed 
his  strident  challenge,  ever  an  arrow-flight  ahead 
of  the  voyagers.  He  warned  the  furtive  folk  of 
the  great  chief's  approach. 

"  Kingfisher  would  be  a  fitting  name  for  the 
boy  who  killed  the  wolf,"  said  Ouenwa. 

The  old  man  glanced  at  him  sharply.  His  thin 
face  was  sombre  with  more  than  the  shadow  of 
years. 

"  Nay,"  he  replied.  "  His  is  no  empty  cry.  Be- 
ware of  him,  my  son !  " 


CHAPTER    II. 

THJE   OLD   CRAFTSMAN   BY   THE   SALT   WATER 

MONTAW,  the  arrow-maker,  dwelt  alone  at  the 
head  of  a  small  bay.  His  home  was  half-wigwam, 
half-hut.  The  roof  was  of  poles,  partly  covered 
with  the  hides  of  caribou  and  partly  with  a  square 
of  sail-cloth,  which  had  been  given  him  by  a  Basque 
fisherman  in  exchange  for  six  beaver  skins.  The 
walls  of  the  unusual  lodge  were  of  turf  and  stone. 
Here  and  there  were  signs  of  intercourse  with  the 
strangers  out  of  the  Eastern  sea,  —  an  iron  fish- 
hook, a  scrap  of  gold  lace,  and  a  highly  polished 
copper  pot.  Of  these  treasures  the  recluse  was 
justly  proud,  for  had  he  not  acquired  them  at  risk 
of  sudden  extinction  by  the  breath  of  the  clapping 
fire-stick  ? 

The  arrow-maker  was  an  old  man.  In  his  youth 
he  had  been  a  hunter  of  renown  and  a  great  travel- 
ler, and  had  sojourned  long  in  the  lodges  of  the 
Southern  nation.  He  had  loved  a  woman  of  that 
people,  —  and  she  had  given  him  laughter  in  re- 

9 


io  Brothers  of  Peril 

turn  for  his  devotion.  Journeying  back  to  his  own 
hunting-grounds,  he  had  planned  a  huge  revenge. 
At  once  all  his  skill  and  bravery  had  been  turned 
to  less  open  ways  than  those  of  the  lover  and 
warrior.  In  little  more  than  a  year's  time  he  had 
driven  the  tribes  to  a  lasting  and  bitter  war.  Even 
now  as  he  sat  before  the  door  of  his  lodge,  he 
was  shaping  spear-heads  and  arrow-heads  for  the 
fighting  men  of  Soft  Hand's  nation.  Some  arrows 
he  made  of  jasper,  and  some  of  flint,  and  some  of 
purple  slate.  Those  of  slate  would  break  off  in 
the  wound.  They  were  the  grim  old  craftsman's 
pets. 

One  day  a  young  man  from  the  valley  of  the 
River  of  Three  Fires  brought  Montaw  a  string  of 
fine  trout,  in  payment  for  a  spear-head.  For 
awhile  they  talked  together  in  the  sunlight  at  the 
door  of  the  lodge. 

"  For  the  chase,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  make 
the  long  shape  of  flint,  three  fingers  wide,  and  to 
this  I  bind  a  long  and  heavy  shaft.  Such  an  arrow 
will  hold  in  the  side  of  the  running  deer,  and  may 
be  plucked  out  after  death." 

"  I  have  even  seen  it,  father,"  replied  the  young 
man,  in  supercilious  tones;  for  he  considered  him- 
self a  mighty  hunter. 

"  For   the  battle,"   continued   the   arrow-maker, 


The  Old  Craftsman  1 1 

"  I  chip  the  flint  and  shape  the  narrow  splinters  'of 
slate.  All  three  are  good  in  their  way  if  the  bow 
be  strong  —  and  the  arm." 

The  old  craftsman  made  a  song.     It  was  rough 
as  his  arrow-heads. 

"  Arrows  of  gray  and  arrows  of  black 

Soon  shall  be  red. 

What  will  the  white  moon  say  to  the  proud 
Warriors,  dead  ? 

"  Arrows  of  jasper,  arrows  of  flint, 

Arrows  of  slate. 

So,  with  the  skill  of  my  hands,  I  shape 
Arrows  of  hate. 

"  Fly,  my  little  ones,  straight  and  true, 

Silent  as  sleep. 

Tell  me,  wind,  of  the  flints  I  sow, 
What  shall  I  reap  ? 

"  Sorrow  will  come  to  their  council-fires. 

Weeping  and  fear 

Will  stalk  to  the  heart  of  their  great  chief's  lodge, 
Year  after  year. 

11  When  the  moon  rides  on  the  purple  hills, 

Joyous  of  face, 

Then  do  I  give,  to  the  men  of  my  tribe, 
Heads  for  the  chase. 

"  When  the  chief's  fire  on  the  hilltop  glows 

Like  a  red  star, 

Then  do  I  give,  to  the  men  of  my  tribe, 
Heads  for  the  war. 


12  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  Arrows  of  jasper,  arrows  of  flint, 

Arrows  of  slate. 

Thus,  in  the  door  of  my  lodge,  I  nurse 
Battle  and  hate  !  " 

One  evening,  as  he  sat  before  his  lodge  looking 
seaward,  his  trained  ears  caught  the  sound  of  a 
faint  call  from  the  wooded  hills  behind.  He  did 
not  turn  his  head  or  change  his  position.  But  he 
held  his  breath,  the  better  to  listen.  Again  came 
the  cry,  very  weak  and  far  away. 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  a  wioman,"  he  said,  and  smiled 
grimly. 

Cheerless  and  desolately  gray,  the  light  of  the 
east  faded  into  the  desolate  gray  of  the  sea.  Black, 
like  stalking  shadows,  stood  the  little  islands  of  the 
headlands.  The  last  of  the  light  died  out  like  the 
heart  of  fire  in  the  shroud  of  cooling  ashes.  Again 
came  the  cry,  whispering  across  the  stillness. 

"  It  may  be  the  voice  of  a  child,  lost  in  the 
woods,"  said  the  arrow-maker.  He  rose  from  his 
seat  and  entered  the  lodge.  He  blew  the  coals  of 
his  fire  back  to  a  tiny  flame.  He  drew  up  to  it  the 
burnt  ends  of  faggots.  Then  he  took  in  his  hand 
another  of  his  Eastern  prizes  —  a  broad-bladed 
knife  —  and  started  across  the  tumbled  rocks 
toward  the  edge  of  the  wood.  Though  old,  he  was 
still  strong  and  tough  of  limb  and  courageous  of 


The  Old  Craftsman  13 

heart.  Sure  and  swift  he  made  his  way  through 
the  heavy  growth  of  spruce.  Once  he  paused  for 
the  space  of  a  heart-beat,  to  make  sure  of  his  direc- 
tion. Again  and  again  was  the  piteous  cry 
repeated. 

The  old  man  kept  up  his  tireless  trot  through 
underbrush  and  swamp,  and  displayed  neither 
fatigue  nor  caution  until  he  reached  the  bank  of  a 
narrow  and  turbulent  stream.  Here  he  drew  into 
the  shadow  of  a  clump  of  firs.  He  lay  close,  and 
breathed  heavily.  By  this  time  the  moon  had  cleared 
the  knolls.  Its  thin  radiance  flooded  the  wilder- 
ness. In  the  air  was  a  whisper  of  gathering  frost. 
The  water  of  the  little  river  twisted  black  and 
silver,  and  worried  at  the  fanged  rocks  that  tore 
it,  with  a  voice  of  agony. 

The  crying  had  ceased;  but  the  eyes  of  the  old 
craftsman  questioned  the  farther  shore  with  a 
gaze  steady  and  keen.  There  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing wrong  with  the  shadows.  A  bent  figure 
slipped  down  to  the  edge  of  the  stream  where  the 
water  spun  in  an  eddy.  It  dropped  on  hands  and 
knees  and  crawled  to  the  black  and  unstable  lip 
of  the  tide.  Again  the  cry  rang  abroad,  thin  and 
high  above  the  complaining  tumult  of  the  current. 
The  watcher  left  his  hiding-place  and  waded  the 


14  Brothers  of  Peril 

stream.  At  the  edge  of  the  spinning  eddy  he  found 
a  woman.  She  lay  exhausted.  A  long  shaft  hung 
to  her  left  shoulder.  Blood  trickled  down  her  bare 
and  rounded  arm.  The  arrow-maker  lifted  her 
against  his  shoulder  and  bathed  her  face  in  the  cool 
water  until  her  eyelids  lifted. 

"  Chief,"  she  whispered,  "  pluck  out  the  arrow." 

He  shook  his  head.  His  trade  was  with  battle 
and  death,  but  it  was  half  a  lifetime  since  he  had 
felt  the  gushing  of  human  blood  on  his  hands. 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  faintly,  "  I  pray  you, 
pluck  it  out.  The  pain  of  it  eats  into  my  spirit. 
It  sprang  to  me  from  a  little  wood,  bitter  and  noise- 
less —  and  I  heard  not  so  much  as  the  twang  of  the 
string." 

The  old  man  held  her  with  his  left  arm.  With 
strong  and  gentle  fingers  he  worked  the  arrow  in 
the  wound.  She  quivered  with  the  pain  of  it. 
Blood  came  more  freely.  He  trembled  at  the  hot 
touch  of  it  across  his  fingers.  He  had  dwelt  so 
long  in  the  quiet  of  his  craft.  Then  the  barbed 
blade  came  away  from  the  wound,  and  he  clutched 
it  in  his  reeking  palm.  The  woman  sobbed  with 
mingled  pain  and  relief.  The  old  man  stepped 
into  the  moonlight  and  lifted  the  arrow  to  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  none  of  my  making,"  he  said. 


The  Old  Craftsman  15 

He  heard  the  woman  sobbing  in  the  dark.  Re- 
turning to  her  he  bound  her  shoulder  with  his  belt 
of  dressed  leather.  Then,  lifting  her  tenderly,  he 
again  forded  the  flashing  current  of  the  complain- 
ing river. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   FIGHT  IN    THE   MEADOW 

EVEN  while  the  arrow-maker  carried  the 
wounded  woman,  arrows  of  the  same  shape  as 
that  which  had  stabbed  her  tender  flesh  were  threat- 
ening the  little  village  on  the  River  of  Three  Fires. 
For  days  several  war-parties  from  the  South  had 
been  stealing  through  the  country,  raiding  the  lesser 
villages,  and  bent  on  destroying  the  nation  of  Soft 
Hand,  and  possessing  his  hunting-grounds.  It  was 
a  laggard  of  one  of  the  smaller  bands  that  had 
wounded  the  woman.  She  had  been  far  from  her 
lodge  at  the  time,  seeking  some  healing  herbs  in 
the  forest,  and  he  had  fired  on  her  out  of  fear  that 
she  had  discovered  him  and  would  warn  her  people. 
In  her  pain  and  fright,  she  had  wandered  coast- 
ward  for  several  miles. 

Silent  as  shadows,  the  invading  warriors  drew 
down  toward  the  little  meadow.  Clouds  were  over 
the  face  of  the  white  October  moon.  A  cold  mist 

floated  in  the  valley.     The  leaders  of  the  invaders, 

16 


The  Fight  in  the  Meadow          17 

lying  low  among  the  alders  at  the  edge  of  the 
clearing,  could  see  the  unguarded  people  moving 
about  their  red  fires.  There  was  a  scent  of  cook- 
ing deer-meat  in  the  chill  air.  The  chief  of  the 
attacking  party  lay  on  the  damp  grass  and  peered 
between  the  stems  of  the  alders.  He  smiled  ex- 
ultantly. A  quick  slaughter,  and  then  to  a  feast 
already  prepared.  He  and  his  braves  had  enjoyed 
but  poor  fare  during  their  long  march. 

So  shall  I  leave  him,  sniffing  the  breath  of  the 
cooking  fires,  and  turn  to  Wolf  Slayer.  Late  of 
that  afternoon  Wolf  Slayer  had  sallied  forth  in 
quest  of  something  to  kill.  The  woods  had  seemed 
deserted,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  after  his  valor- 
ous exit  from  the  camp,  he  had  fallen  asleep  on  a 
warm  and  sheltered  strip  of  shingle.  The  river 
flashed  in  front,  and  on  three  sides  brooded  the 
crowding  trees.  When  he  awoke,  the  sun  had  set, 
and  the  river,  a  curved  mirror  for  the  western  sky, 
was  red  as  fire  —  or  blood.  Down-stream,  about 
two  hundred  yards  distant,  a  sombre  bluff  thrust 
its  rocky  breast  into  the  water.  The  boy  gazed  at 
this,  and  his  eyes  widened  with  dismay.  Then  they 
narrowed  with  hate.  Out  of  the  shelter  of  the  rocks 
and  the  shadows,  and  into  the  flaming  waters,  came 
figure  after  figure.  They  waded  knee-deep,  hip- 
deep,  shoulder-deep,  into  that  molten  glory.  Then 


1 8  Brothers  of  Peril 

they  swam;  and  the  ripples  washed  back  from 
gleaming  neck  and  shoulder  like  lighter  flames. 
One  by  one  they  stole  from  the  shadow,  swam  the 
radiance,  and  again  sought  the  shadow. 

The  boy  trembled.  The  devils  of  fear  and  rage 
had  their  fingers  on  him.  Spellbound,  he  watched 
close  upon  a  hundred  warriors  make  the  passage  of 
the  river.  Then  he,  too,  sank  noiselessly  into  the 
shelter  of  the  trees.  He  was  old  enough  to  know 
what  this  meant,  and  his  heart  hurt  him  with  its 
pent-up  fury  as  he  crawled  through  the  underbrush. 
He  was  dismayed  at  the  sound  of  his  own  breath- 
ing. He  heard  the  distant  rapping  of  a  wood- 
pecker, the  fall  of  a  spent  leaf  from  an  alder,  and 
the  soft  breath  of  a  dying  wind;  and  the  familiar 
sounds  filled  him  with  awe.  And  yet,  but  for  these 
sounds,  the  whole  world  might  be  dead  and  the 
forest  empty.  Thought  of  the  hundred  fighting 
men  moving  steadily  upon  the  unguarded  homes 
of  his  people,  with  no  more  warning  than  the  sound 
of  a  swamp-bird's  flight,  was  like  a  nightmare. 
But  presently  the  courage  that  had  helped  him  slay 
the  wolf  came  to  him,  and  he  thought  of  the  glory 
to  be  won  by  saving  the  threatened  village.  He 
did  not  strengthen  his  heart  to  the  task  for  sake 
of  his  mother's  life  and  the  lives  of  his  playmates; 
but  because  the  warriors  would  call  him  a  hero. 


The  Fight  in  the  Meadow          19 

Keeping  just  within  the  edge  of  the  woods,  he 
moved  up-stream  as  speedily  as  he  might  without 
making  any  sound.  He  came  upon  a  brown  hare 
crouched  beside  a  clump  of  ferns.  He  might  have 
touched  it  with  his  hand,  so  unaware  was  it  of  his 
presence.  He  passed  beneath  an  alder  branch 
whereon  perched  a  big  slate-gray  jay.  It  was  not 
a  foot  from  his  back  as  he  crawled  under,  and  it 
did  not  take  flight.  But  it  eyed  him  intently,  to 
make  sure  that  he  was  not  a  fox.  Sometimes  he 
lay  still  for  a  little,  listening.  He  heard  nothing, 
though  he  started  at  a  hundred  fancied  sounds. 
Twilight  deepened  into  dusk,  and  dusk  into  gloom. 
The  moon  sailed  up  over  the  hills,  and  long  ban- 
ners of  cloud  passed  across  the  face  of  it. 

Presently  Wolf  Slayer  came  within  sight  of  the 
fires  of  the  village.  The  red  light  flashed  on  the 
angry  river  beyond,  but  left  the  lagoon  in  darkness. 
He  crawled  into  the  water  inch  by  inch,  scarcely 
breaking  the  calm,  black  surface.  Then  he  swam, 
without  noise  of  splashing,  and  landed  at  the  foot 
of  the  meadow  like  a  great  beaver.  He  crawled 
into  the  red  circle  of  one  of  the  fires,  and  told  his 
news  to  the  braves  gathered  around.  Men  slipped 
from  fire  to  fire.  Without  any  unwonted  disturb- 
ance, the  whole  village  armed  itself.  Suddenly, 
with  a  fierce  shout  and  a  flight  of  arrow|s,  the  alders 


2O  Brothers   of  Peril 

were  attacked.  The  invaders  were  checked  at  the 
very  moment  of  their  fancied  victory. 

The  righting  scattered.  Here  three  men  strug- 
gled together  in  the  shallows  at  the  head  of  the 
lagoon.  Farther  out,  one  tossed  his  arms  and  sank 
into  the  black  depths.  In  the  open  a  half-score  war- 
riors bent  their  bows.  Among  the  twisted  stems 
of  the  alders  they  pulled  and  strangled,  like  beasts 
of  prey.  Back  in  the  spruces  they  slew  with  clubs 
and  knives,  feeling  for  one  another  in  the  dark. 
Their  war-cries  and  shouts  of  hate  rang  fearfully 
on  the  night  air,  and  awoke  unholy  echoes  along  the 
valley. 

In  the  front  of  the  battle  Wolf  Slayer  fought 
like  a  man.  His  lack  of  stature  saved  him  from 
death  more  than  once  in  that  fearful  encounter. 
Many  a  vicious  blow  glanced  harmless,  or  missed 
him  altogether,  as  he  stumbled  and  bent  among  the 
alders.  At  first  he  fought  with  a  long,  flint  knife, 
—  the  work  of  the  old  arrow-maker.  But  this 
was  splintered  in  his  hand  by  the  murderous  stroke 
of  a  war-club.  He  wrenched  a  spear  from  the 
clutch  of  a  dying  brave.  A  leaping  figure  went 
down  before  his  unexpected  lunge.  It  rolled  over; 
then,  queerly  sprawling,  it  lay  still.  An  arrow 
from  the  open  ripped  along  an  alder  stem,  rattled 
its  shaft  among  the  dry  twigs,  and  struck  a  glanc- 


The  Fight  in  the  Meadow          21 

ing  blow  on  the  young  brave's  neck.  He  stumbled, 
grabbing  at  the  shadows.  He  fell  —  and  forgot 
the  fight. 

In  light  and  darkness  the  battle  raged  on.  Wig- 
wams were  overthrown,  and  about  the  little  fires 
warriors  gave  up  their  violent  lives.  At  last  the 
encampment  was  cleared,  and  saved  from  destruc- 
tion; and  those  of  the  invaders  who  remained  be- 
side the  trampled  fires  had  ceased  to  menace.  Along 
the  black  edges  of  the  forest  ran  the  cries  and 
tumult  of  the  struggle.  Spent  arrows  floated  on 
the  lagoon.  Red  knives  lifted  and  turned  in  the 
underbrush. 

Wolf  Slayer,  dizzy  and  faint,  crawled  back  to 
the  lodges  of  his  people.  Other  warriors  were 
returning.  They  came  exultant,  with  the  lust  of 
fighting  still  aflame  in  their  eyes.  Some  strode 
arrogantly.  Some  crawled,  as  Wolf  Slayer  had. 
Some  staggered  to  the  home  fires  and  reeled  against 
the  lodges,  and  some  got  no  farther  than  the  outer 
circle  of  light.  And  many  came  not  at  all. 

The  chief,  with  a  great  gash  high  on  his  breast 
(he  had  bared  arms  and  breast  for  the  battle), 
sought  about  the  clearing  and  trampled  fringe  of 
alders,  and  at  last,  returning  to  the  disordered 
camp,  found  Wolf  Slayer.  With  a  glad,  high 


22  Brothers  of  Peril 

shout  of  triumph,  he  lifted  the  boy  in  his  arms 
and  carried  him  home.  The  mother  met  them  at 
the  door  of  the  lodge.  In  fearful  silence  the  man 
and  woman  washed  and  bound  the  young  brave's 
wound,  and  watched  above  his  faint  breathing  with 
anxious  hearts. 

"  Little  one,  strengthen  your  feet  against  the  turn 
of  the  dark  trail,"  whispered  the  mother.  "  See, 
our  fires  are  bright  to  guide  you  back  to  your  own 
people." 

"  Little  chief,  though  this  battle  is  ended,  there 
are  many  good  fights  yet  to  come,"  whispered  the 
father.  "  The  fighters  of  the  camp  will  have  great 
need  of  you  when  we  turn  from  our  sleep.  The  old 
bear  grumbles  at  the  mouth  of  his  den !  —  will  you 
not  be  with  us  when  we  singe  his  fur  ?  " 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  cried  the  woman. 

The  boy,  opening  his  eyes,  turned  the  feet  of  his 
spirit  from  the  dark  trail. 

"  I  saw  the  lights  of  the  lost  fires,"  he  murmured, 
"  and  the  hunting-song  of  dead  braves  was  in  my 
ears." 

Wolf  Slayer  was  nursed  back  to  health  and 
strength.  Not  once  —  not  even  at  the  edge  of 
Death's  domain  —  had  his  arfogance  left  him.  It 
seemed  that  the  days  of  suffering  had  but  hardened 


The  Fight  in  the  Meadow          23 

his  already  hard  heart.  Lad  though  he  was,  the 
villagers  began  to  feel  the  weight  of  his  hand  upon 
them.  He  bullied  and  beat  the  other  boys  of  the 
camp. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

OUENWA   SETS   OUT   ON    A   VAGUE   QUEST 

IN  the  dead  of  winter  —  in  that  season  of  sweep- 
ing winds  and  aching  skies,  when  the  wide  barrens 
lie  uncheered  of  life  from  horizon  to  horizon  — 
Soft  Hand  sent  many  of  his  warriors  to  the  South. 
They  followed  in  the  "  leads  "  of  the  great  herds 
of  caribou,  going  partly  for  the  meat  of  the  deer 
and  partly  to  strike  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the 
Southern  enemy.  At  the  head  of  this  party  went 
Panounia,  chief  of  the  village  on  the  River  of  Three 
Fires,  and  with  him  he  took  his  hardy  son,  Wolf 
Slayer.  Grim  plans  were  bred  on  that  journey. 
Grim  tales  were  told  around  the  big  fire  at  night. 
The  evil  thing  which  Panounia  hatched,  with  his 
bragging  tongue,  grew  day  by  day  and  night  by 
night.  The  hearts  of  the  warriors  were  fired  with 
the  shameful  flame.  They  dreamed  things  that  had 
never  happened,  and  wrought  black  visions  out  of 
the  foolishnesses  of  their  brains. 

"  The  bear  nods,"  they  repeated,  one  to  another, 
24 


Ouenwa  Sets  Out  on  a  Quest       25 

after  the  chief  had  talked  to  them.  "  The  bear 
nods,  like  an  old  woman  over  a  pot  of  stew.  But 
for  Panounia,  surely  the  men  of  the  South  would 
have  scattered  our  lodges  and  led  us,  captive,  to 
the  playgrounds  of  their  children  and  their  squaws. 
Such  a  fate  would  warm  the  heart  of  Soft  Hand, 
for  is  not  our  Great  Chief  an  old  woman  himself?  " 

So,  far  from  the  eye  and  paw  of  the  great  bear, 
the  foxes  barked  at  his  power.  The  moon  heard 
it,  and  the  silent  trees,  and  the  wind  which  carries 
no  messages. 

About  this  time  Ouenwa,  the  grandson  of  Soft 
Hand,  decided  to  make  a  journey  of  many  days 
from  the  lodges  at  the  head  of  Wind  Lake  to  the 
Salt  Water.  He  felt  no  interest  in  the  Southern 
invasion.  His  eyes  longed  for  a  sight  of  the  edges 
of  the  land  and  the  breast  of  the  great  waters  be- 
yond. He  had  heard,  in  his  inland  home,  rumour 
of  mighty  wooden  canoes  walled  higher  than  the 
peak  of  a  wigwam,  and  manned  by  loud-mouthed 
warriors  from  beyond  the  fogs  and  the  rising  sun. 
Some  wiseacre,  squatted  beside  the  old  chief's  fire, 
hinted  that  the  strangers  were  gods.  He  told  many 
wonderful  stories  to  back  his  argument.  Soft  Hand 
nodded.  But  Ouenwa  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Would  gods  make   such   flights   for  the   sake 


26  Brothers  of  Peril 

of  a  few  dried  fishes  and  a  few  dressed  pelts  of 
beaver  and  fox  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  gods  of  trade  would  do  so,"  replied  the 
wiseacre.  "  Also,"  he  added,  "  they  slay  at  great 
distances  by  means  of  brown  stakes  which  are  flame- 
tongued  and  smoke-crowned  and  thunder-voiced." 

"  But  do  these  gods  not  fight  with  knives  —  long 
knives  and  short?"  inquired  the  lad.  "I  have 
heard  it  said  that  they  sometimes  fall  out  over  the 
ordering  of  their  affairs,  even  as  we  mortals  do." 

"  And  what  wonderful  knives  they  are,"  cried 
the  old  gossip.  "  They  are  coloured  like  ice.  They 
gleam  in  the  sunlight,  like  a  flash  of  lightning 
against  a  cloud.  They  cut  quicker  than  thought, 
and  the  red  blood  follows  the  edge  as  surely  as 
the  rains  follow  April." 

"  I  have  yet  to  see  these  gods,"  replied  Ouenwa, 
"  and  in  my  heart  I  pray  that  they  be  but  men, 
for  the  gods  have  proved  themselves  but  cheerless 
companions  to  our  people." 

At  that  Soft  Hand  looked  up.  "  Are  the  seasons 
not  arranged  to  your  liking,  boy  ? "  he  asked, 
quietly. 

"Nay,  I  did  not  mean  that,"  cried  Ouenwa; 
"  but  strange  men  promise  better  and  safer  com- 
pany than  strange  gods." 

Now  he  was  journeying  toward  the  ocean  of 


Ouenwa  Sets  Out  on  a  Quest       27 

his  dreaming  and  the  ports  of  his  desire.  His  eyes 
would  search  the  headlands  of  fog.  Out  of  the 
east,  and  the  sun's  bed,  would  lift  the  magic  canoes 
of  the  strangers.  But  the  journey  was  a  hard  one. 
The  boy's  only  companion  was  a  man  of  small 
stature  and  unheroic  spirit,  whom  the  old  chief 
could  well  spare.  They  took  their  way  down  the 
frozen,  snow-drifted  lake,  dragging  their  food  and 
sleeping-bags  of  skin  on  a  rough  sledge.  The  wind 
came  out  of  a  steel-blue  sky,  unshifting  and  relent- 
less. The  dry  snow  ran  before  it  over  the  level 
surface,  and  settled  in  thin,  white  ridges  across 
their  path.  At  the  approach  of  night  they  sought 
the  wooded  shore,  and  in  the  shelter  of  the  firs  built 
their  fire. 

During  the  journey  Ouenwa's  guide  proved  but 
a  cheerless  companion.  He  had  no  heart  for  any 
adventure  that  might  take  him  beyond  the  scent 
of  his  people's  cooking-fires.  He  considered  the 
conversation  of  his  young  master  but  a  poor  sub- 
stitute for  the  gossip  of  the  lodges.  The  scant 
fare  of  his  own  cooking  left  his  stomach  uncom- 
forted.  He  hated  the  weariness  of  the  march  and 
dreaded  the  silence  of  the  night.  The  cry  of  the 
wind  across  the  tree-tops  was,  to  his  craven  ear, 
the  voice  of  some  evil  spirit.  The  barking  of  a 
fox  on  the  hill  set  his  limbs  a-tremble.  The  howl 


28  Brothers   of  Peril 

of  a  wolf  struck  him  cold.  The  sudden  leaping 
of  a  hare  in  the  underbrush  was  enough  to  shake 
his  poor  wits  with  fright.  But  he  feared  the  anger 
of  Soft  Hand  more  than  all  these  terrors,  and  so 
held  to  Ouenwa  and  his  mission. 

On  the  third  day  of  the  journey  the  blue  sky 
thickened  to  gray,  the  wind  veered,  and  a  great 
storm  of  snow  overtook  them.  The  snowflakes 
were  large  and  damp.  The  travellers  turned  aside 
and  climbed  the  bank  of  the  river  to  the  thickets 
of  evergreens.  With  their  rude  axes  of  stone  they 
broke  away  the  fir  boughs  and  reared  themselves 
a  shelter  in  the  heart  of  the  wood.  Into  this  they 
drew  their  sledge  of  provisions  and  their  sleeping- 
bags.  Then  they  collected  whatever  dry  fuel  they 
could  find  —  dead  twigs  and  branches,  tree-moss 
and  birch  bark  —  and,  with  his  ingenious  contriv- 
ance of  bow  and  notched  stick,  Ouenwa  started  a 
blaze.  They  roasted  dried  venison  by  holding  it 
to  the  flame  on  the  ends  of  pointed  sticks.  Each 
cooked  what  he  wanted,  and  ate  it  without  talk. 
All  creation  seemed  shrouded  in  silence.  There  was 
not  a  sound  save  the  occasional  soft  hiss  of  a  melt- 
ing snowflake  in  the  fire.  The  storm  became  denser. 
It  was  as  if  a  sudden,  colourless  night  had  de- 
scended upon  the  wilderness,  blotting  out  even  the 
nearer  trees  with  its  reeling  gray.  The  old  re- 


Ouenwa   Sets   Out  on   a   Quest       29 

tainer  crouched  low,  and  gazed  out  at  the  storm 
from  between  his  bony  knees.  His  eyes  fairly  pro- 
truded with  superstitious  terror. 

"What  do  you  see?"  inquired  Ouenwa.  The 
awe  of  the  storm  was  creeping  over  his  courage 
like  the  first  film  of  ice  over  a  bright  stream.  The 
old  man  did  not  move.  He  did  not  reply.  Ouenwa 
drew  closer  to  him,  and  heaped  dry  moss  on  the 
fire.  It  glowed  high,  and  splashed  a  ruddy  circle 
of  light  on  the  eddying  snowflakes  as  on  a  wall. 

"  Hark !  "  whispered  the  old  man.  Yes,  it  was 
the  sound  of  muffled  footsteps,  approaching  behind 
the  impenetrable  curtain  of  the  storm.  The  boy's 
blood  chilled  and  thinned  like  water  in  his  veins. 
He  clutched  his  companion  with  frenzied  hands. 
The  fear  of  all  the  devils  and  shapeless  beings  of 
the  wilderness  was  upon  him.  In  the  whirling 
snow  loomed  a  great  figure.  It  emerged  into  the 
glow  of  the  fire. 

"Ah!  ah!"  cried  the  old  man,  cackling  with 
relief.  For  their  visitor  was  nothing  more  terrible 
than  a  fellow  human.  The  stranger  greeted  them 
cordially,  and  told  them  that,  but  for  the  glow 
of  their  fire,  he  would  have  been  lost. 

"  But  what  are  you  doing  here  —  an  old  man 
and  a  child?"  he  asked. 

Ouenwa  told  him.     He  explained  his  identity, 


3O  Brothers  of  Peril 

and  his  intention  of  dwelling  with  the  great  arrow- 
maker  of  his  grandfather's  tribe  to  learn  wisdom. 

"  Then  are  we  well  met,"  replied  the  other,  "  for 
my  lodge  is  not  half  a  spear-throw  from  the  lodge 
of  the  arrow-maker.  The  old  man  has  been  as  a 
father  to  me  since  the  day  he  saved  my  wife  from 
death.  Now  I  hunt  for  him,  and  work  at  his  craft, 
and  have  left  the  river  to  be  near  him.  My  children 
play  about  his  lodge.  My  wife  broils  his  fish  and 
meat.  Truly  the  old  man  has  changed  since  the 
return  of  laughter  and  friendship  to  his  lodge." 

The  stranger's  name  was  Black  Feather.  He 
was  taller  than  the  average  Beothic,  and  broad  of 
shoulder  in  proportion.  His  hair  was  brown,  and 
one  lock  of  it,  which  was  worn  longer  than  the 
rest,  was  plaited  with  jet-black  feathers.  His  gar- 
ments consisted  of  a  shirt  of  beaver  skins  that 
reached  half-way  between  hip  and  knee,  trousers 
of  dressed  leather,  and  leggins  and  moccasins  of 
the  same  material.  Around  his  waist  was  a  broad 
belt,  beautifully  worked  in  designs  of  dyed  porcu- 
pine quills.  His  head  was  uncovered. 

Black  Feather  seated  himself  beside  Ouenwa, 
and  replied,  good-naturedly,  and  at  great  length, 
to  the  youth's  many  questions.  He  told  of  the 
high-walled  ships,  and  of  how  he  had  once  seen 
four  of  these  monsters  swinging  together  in  the 


Ouenwa  Sets   Out  on  a  Quest      31 

tide,  with  little  boats  plying  between  them,  and 
banners  red  as  the  sunset  flapping  above  them. 
He  told  of  trading  with  the  strangers,  and  described 
their  manner  of  spreading  out  lengths  of  bright 
cloth,  knives  and  hatchets  of  gray  metal,  and  flasks 
of  strong  drink. 

"  Their  knives  are  edged  with  magic,"  he  said. 
"  Many  of  them  carry  weapons  called  muskets, 
which  kill  at  a  hundred  paces,  and  terrify  at  even 
a  greater  distance.  But  a  nimble  bowman  might 
loose  four  arrows  in  the  time  that  they  are  con- 
juring forth  the  spirit  of  the  musket." 

The  storm  continued  throughout  the  day  and 
night,  but  the  morning  broke  clear.  The  travellers 
crawled  from  their  weighted  shelter  and  looked  with 
gratitude  upon  the  silver  shield  of  the  sun.  After 
a  hearty  breakfast,  they  set  out  on  the  last  stage 
of  their  journey.  Their  racquets  of  spruce  wood 
woven  across  with  strips  of  caribou  hide  sank  deep 
in  the  feathery  snow,  and  lifted  a  burden  of  it  at 
every  step.  But  they  held  cheerfully  on  their  way. 
Black  Feather  walked  ahead,  and  Pot  Friend,  the 
old  gossip,  brought  up  the  rear.  The  thong  by 
which  they  dragged  the  sledge  passed  over  the 
right  shoulder  of  each,  and  was  grasped  in  the 
right  hand.  After  several  hours  of  tramping  along 
the  level  of  the  river's  valley,  Black  Feather  turned 


32  Brothers  of  Peril 

toward  the  western  bank  and  led  them  into  the 
woods.  Presently,  after  experiencing  several  dif- 
ficulties with  the  sledge,  they  emerged  on  the  barren 
beyond  the  fringe  of  timber.  They  ascended  a 
treeless  knoll  that  rounded  in  front  of  them,  blind- 
ingly  white  against  the  pale  sky.  Old  Pot  Friend 
grumbled  and  sighed,  and  might  just  as  well  have 
been  on  the  sledge,  for  all  the  pulling  he  did.  On 
reaching  the  top  of  the  knoll  Black  Feather  swept 
his  arm  before  him  with  a  gesture  of  finality.  "  Be- 
hold!" he  said. 

An  exclamation  of  wonder  sprang  to  Ouenwa's 
lips,  and  died  —  half-uttered.  Before  him  lay  a 
wedge  of  foam-crested  winter  sea  beating  out 
against  a  far,  glass-clear  horizon.  To  right  and 
left  were  sheer  rocks  and  timbered  valleys,  wave- 
washed  coves,  ice-rimmed  islands,  and  crouching 
headlands.  Even  Pot  Friend  forgot  his  weariness 
and  shortness  of  breath  for  the  moment,  and  sur- 
veyed the  outlook  in  silence.  It  was  many  years 
since  he  had  been  so  far  afield.  His  little  soul  was 
fairly  stunned  with  awe.  But  presently  his  real 
nature  reasserted  itself.  He  pointed  with  his  hand. 

"Smoke!"  he  exclaimed.  "And  the  roofs  of 
two  lodges.  Good !  " 

Black  Feather  smiled.  Ouenwa  did  not  hear 
the  old  man's  cry  of  joy. 


Ouenwa  Sets   Out  on   a   Quest       33 

"  I  see  the  edge  of  the  world,"  he  said. 

"  But  the  ships  come  over  it,  and  go  down  be- 
hind it,"  replied  Black  Feather. 

"  That  is  foolishness,"  said  Pot  Friend,  who  was 
filled  with  his  old  impudence  at  sight  of  the  fire 
and  the  lodges.  "  No  canoe  would  venture  on 
the  great  salt  water.  I  say  it,  who  have  built  many 
canoes.  And,  if  they  voyaged  so  far,  they  would 
slip  off  into  the  caves  of  the  Fog  Devils.  I  believe 
nothing  of  all  these  stories  of  the  strangers  and 
their  winged  canoes." 

"  Silence !  "  cried  the  boy,  turning  on  him  with 
flashing  eyes.  "  What  do  you  know  of  how  far 
men  will  venture  ?  —  you,  who  have  but  heart 
enough  to  stir  a  pot  of  broth  and  lick  the  spoon." 

"  I  have  brought  you  safely  through  great  dan- 
gers," whined  the  old  fellow. 

Montaw,  the  aged  arrow-maker,  welcomed  his 
visitors  cordially,  and  was  grateful  for  the  kind 
messages  from  his  chief,  Soft  Hand,  and  for  the 
gift  of  dressed  leather.  He  accepted  the  charge 
and  education  of  Ouenwa.  He  set  the  unheroic 
Pot  Friend  to  the  tasks  of  carrying  water  and  wood, 
and  snaring  hares  and  grouse.  He  taught  Ouenwa 
the  craft  of  chipping  flints  into  shapes  for  spear- 
heads and  arrow-heads,  and  the  art  of  painting,  in 
ochre,  on  leather  and  birch  bark. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   ADMIRAL   OF   THE   HARBOUR 

SPRING  brought  ice-floes  and  bergs  from  the 
north,  and  millions  of  Greenland  seals.  For 
weeks  the  little  bay  on  which  Montaw  and  Black 
Feather  had  their  lodges  was  choked  with  batter- 
ing ice-pans  and  crippled  bergs.  Many  of  the 
tribesmen  came  to  the  salt  water  to  kill  the  seals. 
Soft  Hand  sent  a  canoe-load  of  beaver  pelts  to 
Ouenwa,  so  that  the  boy  might  trade  with  the 
strangers  when  they  arrived  out  of  the  waste  of 
waters. 

At  last  summer  came  to  the  great  Bay  of  Ex- 
ploits, and  with  it  many  ships  —  ships  of  England, 
of  France,  of  Spain,  and  of  Portugal.  All  were 
in  quest  of  the  world-renowned  codfish.  By  this 
time  the  ice  had  rotted,  and  drifted  southward. 
The  first  craft  to  enter  Wigwam  Harbour  (as  the 
English  sailors  called  the  arrow-maker's  bay)  was 
the  Devon  ship,  Heart  of  the  West.  Her  master, 
John  Trowley,  was  an  ignorant,  hard-headed,  and 

34 


The   Admiral   of  the   Harbour       35 

hard-fisted  old  mariner  of  the  roughest  type;  but, 
by  the  laws  of  those  waters,  he  was  Admiral  of 
Wigwam  Harbour  for  that  season.  It  was  not 
long  before  every  harbour  had  its  admiral,  —  in 
every  case  the  master  of  the  first  vessel  to  drop 
anchor  there.  The  shores  were  portioned  off  in 
strips,  so  that  each  ship  might  have  a  place  for 
drying-stages,  whereon  to  cure  its  fish.  Then  the 
great  business  of  garnering  that  rich  harvest  of 
the  north  began,  amid  the  rattling  of  boat-gear,  the 
shouting  of  orders  in  many  tongues,  and  the  vol- 
leying of  oaths.  Ouenwa,  watching  the  animated 
scene,  was  fired  with  a  desire  to  voyage  in  one 
of  the  strange  vessels,  and  to  taste  the  world  that 
lay  beyond  the  rim  of  the  sea. 

One  day,  soon  after  their  arrival,  three  men 
from  the  Heart  of  the  West  ascended  the  twisting 
path  to  the  arrow-maker's  lodge.  The  old  crafts- 
man and  Black  Feather  and  Ouenwa  advanced  to 
meet  them  without  fear,  for  up  to  that  time  the 
adventurers  and  the  natives  had  been  on  the  best 
of  terms.  The  strangers  smiled  and  bowed  to  the 
Beothics.  They  displayed  a  handful  of  coloured 
glass  beads,  a  roll  of  red  cloth,  and  a  few  sticks 
of  tobacco.  Old  Montaw's  eyes  glistened  at  sight 
of  the  Virginian  leaf.  He  had  already  learned  the 
trick  of  drawing  on  the  stem  of  a  pipe  and  blowing 


36  Brothers   of  Peril 

fragrant  clouds  of  smoke  into  the  air.  He  said  that 
to  do  so  added  to  the  profundity  of  his  thoughts. 
And  all  winter  he  had  gone  without  a  puff.  He 
produced  a  mink  skin  from  his  lodge  and  exchanged 
it  for  one  of  the  coveted  sticks  of  tobacco.  Black 
Feather  also  traded,  giving  skins  of  mink,  fox,  and 
beaver  for  a  piece  of  cloth,  a  dozen  beads,  and  a 
knife.  But  Ouenwa  stood  aside  and  watched  the 
strangers.  One  of  them  he  recognized  as  the  great 
captain  who  shouted  and  swore  at  the  captains  of 
the  other  ships,  and  pointed  out  to  them  places 
where  they  might  anchor  their  ships  —  for  it  was 
none  other  than  Master  John  Trowley.  The  young 
man  with  the  gold  lace  in  his  hat,  and  the  long 
sword  at  his  side  —  surely,  he,  too,  was  a  chief, 
despite  his  quiet  voice  and  smooth  face.  Ouenwa's 
surmise  was  correct.  The  youth  was  Master  Ber- 
nard Kingswell,  only  son  of  a  wealthy  widow  of 
Bristol.  His  father,  who  had  been  knighted  a  few 
years  before  his  premature  death,  had  been  a  mer- 
chant of  sound  views  and  adventurous  spirit.  The 
son  inherited  the  adventurous  spirit,  and  was  free 
from  the  bondage  of  the  counting-house.  The  third 
of  the  party  was  a  common  seaman.  That  much 
Ouenwa  could  detect  at  a  glance. 

Master   Kingswell   stepped   over   to   the  young 
Beothic. 


The  Admiral   of  the   Harbour       37 

"Trade?"  he  inquired,  kindly,  displaying  a 
string  of  glass  beads  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
Ouenwa  shook  his  head.  He  knew  only  such  words 
of  English  as  Montaw  had  taught  him,  and  he 
feared  that  they  would  prove  entirely  inadequate 
for  the  purpose  that  was  in  his  mind.  However, 
he  would  try.  He  pointed  to  Trowley's  ship,  and 
then  to  the  far  and  glinting  horizon. 

"  Take  Ouenwa  ?  "  he  whispered,  scarce  above 
his  breath. 

"  To  see  the  ship  ?  "  inquired  Master  Kingswell. 

"  Off,"  replied  Ouenwa,  with  a  wave  of  his  arms. 
"Out,  off!" 

Kingswell  looked  puzzled,  and  made  no  reply. 
The  young  Beothic  bent  a  keen  glance  upon  him; 
then  he  tapped  himself  on  the  chest. 

"  Take  Ouenwa,"  he  whispered.  He  plucked  the 
Englishman  by  the  coat.  "  Come,  chief,  come,"  he 
cried,  eagerly. 

Kingswell  followed  to  the  nearest  lodge. 
Ouenwa  pulled  aside  the  flap  of  caribou  hide  that 
covered  the  doorway,  and  motioned  for  the  visitor 
to  enter.  For  a  second  the  Englishman  hesitated. 
He  had  heard  many  tales  of  the  treachery  of  these 
people.  What  menace  might  not  lurk  in  the  gloom 
of  the  round,  fur-scented  lodge?  But  he  did  not 
lack  courage;  and,  before  the  other  had  time  to 


38  Brothers   of  Peril 

notice  the  hesitation,  he  stepped  within.  The  flap 
of  rawhide  fell  into  place  behind  him.  Save  for 
the  red  glow  that  pulsated  from  the  hearthstone 
in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  and  the  fingers  of  sun- 
light that  thrust  through  the  cracks  in  the  apex 
of  the  roof,  the  big  lodge  was  unilluminated. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  asked  Master  Kingswell, 
with  his  shoulders  against  the  slope  of  the  roof 
and  a  tentative  hand  on  his  sword-hilt.  For  answer, 
Ouenwa  held  a  torch  of  rolled  bark  to  the  fire  until 
it  flared  smoky  red,  and  then  lifted  it  high.  The 
light  of  it  flooded  the  sombre  place,  showing  up 
the  couches  of  skins,  Montaw's  copper  pot,  and  a 
great  bale  of  pelts.  The  boy  pointed  to  the  pelts. 
Then  he  pressed  the  palm  of  his  hand  against  the 
Englishman's  breast. 

"  Ouenwa  give  beaver,"  he  said.  "  Take  Ouenwa 
Englan'.  Much  good  trade." 

Kingswell  understood.  But  he  saw  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  carrying  out  the  young  Beothic's  wish. 
The  other  savages  might  object.  They  might  look 
on  it  as  a  case  of  kidnapping.  Lads  had  been  kid- 
napped before  from  the  eastern  bays,  and,  though 
they  had  been  well  treated,  and  made  pets  of  in 
England,  their  people  had  ceased  to  trade  with 
the  visitors,  and  all  their  friendship  had  turned 
to  treachery  and  hostility.  On  the  other  hand, 


The   Admiral  of  the   Harbour       39 

he  should  like  to  take  the  youth  home  with  him. 
He  tried  to  explain  his  position  to  Ouenwa,  but 
failed  signally.  They  parted,  however,  with  the 
most  friendly  feelings  toward  one  another. 

After  the  interview  with  Kingswell,  Ouenwa 
spent  most  of  his  time  gazing  longingly  at  the  ships 
in  the  bay,  and  picturing  the  life  aboard  them,  and 
the  countries  from  which  they  had  come.  One 
morning  Kingswell  called  to  him.  from  the  land- 
wash.  He  ran  down,  delighted  at  the  attention. 
Kingswell  pointed  to  a  small,  open  boat  wiiich  the 
carpenter  of  the  Heart  of  the  West  had  just  com- 
pleted. Then,  by  signs  and  a  few  words,  he  told 
Ouenwa  that  he  was  going  northward  in  the  little 
craft,  to  explore  the  coast,  and  that  he  would  be 
back  with  the  fleet  before  the  birch  leaves  were 
yellow.  Ouenwa  begged  to  be  taken  on  the  expe- 
dition and  afterward  across  the  seas.  He  offered 
his  canoe-load  of  beaver  skins.  He  tried  to  tell  of 
his  great  desire  to  see  the  lodges  of  the  strangers, 
and  to  learn  their  speech.  He  did  not  want  to  live 
the  life  of  his  own  people.  Kingswell  caught  the 
general  trend  of  the  Beothic's  remarks.  He  had 
no  objection  to  driving  a  good  bargain.  So  he 
made  clear  to  him  that  he  was  to  come  alongside 
the  ship,  with  the  beaver  skins,  on  the  following 
night. 


40  Brothers   of  Peril 

The  sky  was  black  with  clouds,  and  a  fog 
wrapped  the  harbour,  when  Ouenwa  stepped  into  his 
loaded  canoe  and  pushed  out  toward  the  spot  where 
Trowley's  ship  lay  at  anchor.  He  had  dragged  his 
skins  from  Montaw's  lodge  earlier  in  the  night, 
without  disturbing  the  slumbers  of  either  his  guar- 
dian or  Pot  Friend.  Age  had  dulled  their  ears  and 
thickened  their  sleep.  He  paddled  noiselessly. 
Sounds  of  roistering  came  to  his  ears,  muffled  by 
the  fog.  Presently  the  admiral's  ship  loomed  close 
ahead.  Lights  blinked  fore  and  aft.  She  seemed 
a  tremendous  thing  to  the  lad,  though  in  truth  she 
w*as  but  of  one  hundred  tons.  Singing  and  laughter 
were  ripe  aboard. 

For  the  first  time  a  fear  of  the  strangers  took 
possession  of  Ouenwa.  Even  his  trust  in  Kingswell 
faltered.  He  ceased  paddling,  and  listened,  with 
bated  breath,  to  the  hoarse  shouts  of  merriment  and 
the  clapping  oaths.  Then  curiosity  overcame  his 
fear.  He  slid  his  long  canoe  under  the  stem  of 
the  Heart  of  the  West.  A  cheering  glow  of  candle- 
light yellowed  the  fog  above  him.  He  stood  up 
and  found  that  his  head  was  on  a  level  with  the 
sill  of  a  square  port.  It  stood  open.  He  heard 
Kingswell's  voice,  and  Trowley's.  The  master- 
mariner's  was  gusty  and  argumentative.  It  broke 
out  at  intervals,  like  the  flapping  of  a  sail, 


The  Admiral  of  the  Harbour       41 

Ouenwa  steadied  himself  with  his  hands  on  the 
casing  of  the  open  port,  and  lifted  to  tiptoe.  Now 
he  could  see  into  the  little  cabin,  and  hear  the  con- 
versation of  its  inmates.  Happily  for  his  feelings, 
he  could  understand  only  a  word  or  two  of  that 
conversation.  He  saw  Kingswell  and  the  master  of 
the  ship  seated  opposite  one  another  at  a  small  table. 
Upon  the  table  stood  candles  in  metal  sticks,  a  bot- 
tle, and  glasses.  The  old  sea-dog's  bearded  face 
was  wiorking  with  excitement.  He  slapped  his  great 
flipper-like  hand  on  the  polished  surface  of  the 
board. 

"  Now  who  be  master  o'  this  ship  ?  "  he  bawled. 
"Tell  me  that,  will  'e.  Who  be  master?" 

"  I  am  the  owner,  you'll  kindly  remember,  John 
Trowley,"  replied  Kingswell,  with  a  ring  of  anger 
in  his  voice,  but  a  smile  on  his  lips. 

"  Ay,  ye  be  owner,  but  John  Trowley  be  skipper," 
roared  the  other,  glaring  so  hard  that  his  round, 
pale  eyes  fairly  bulged  from  his  face.  "  An'  no 
dirty  redskin  sails  in  ship  o'  mine  unless  as  a 
servant,  or  afore  the  mast,  —  no,  not  if  he  pays  his 
passage  with  all  th'  pelts  in  Newfoundland." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  my  friend,"  replied  Kings- 
well.  "  I'll  carry  fifty  of  these  people  back  to  Bris- 
tol, if  it  so  pleases  me." 


42  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  I'll  put  ye  in  irons,  my  fine  gentleman,"  re- 
torted the  seaman. 

"  You  are  drunk,"  cried  the  young  adventurer, 
drawing  back  his  right  hand  as  if  to  strike  the 
great,  scowling  face  that  bent  toward  him  across 
the  table. 

"  Drunk,  d'ye  say !  An'  ye'd  lift  yer  hand  against 
the  ship's  master,  would  ye?"  shouted  Trowley. 
He  lurched  forward,  and  a  knife  flashed  above  the 
overturned  bottle  and  glasses. 

Ouenwa  emitted  a  horrified  scream,  and  hurled 
his  paddle  spear-wise  into  the  cabin.  The  rounded 
point  of  the  blade  caught  Trowley  on  the  side  of 
the  head,  and  sent  him  crashing  to  the  deck. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   FANGS   OF   THE  WOLF   SLAYER 

WHEN  Trowley  recovered  consciousness,  he  was 
lying  in  his  berth,  with  a  bandage  around  his  head. 
Kingswell  looked  in  at  him,  smiling  in  a  way  that 
the  old  mariner  was  beginning  to  fear  as  well  as 
hate. 

"  I  hope  you  are  feeling  more  amiable  since  your 
sleep,"  said  Kingswell. 

Trowley  muttered  a  word  or  two  of  apology, 
damned  the  rum,  and  asked  the  time  of  day.  His 
recollections  of  the  argument  in  the  cabin  were  hazy 
and  fragmentary. 

In  reply  to  his  question  the  gentleman  told  him 
that  the  sun  was  well  up,  the  fog  cleared,  and  that 
he  was  having  his  boat  provisioned  for  the  coast- 
wise exploration  trip. 

"  And  mind  you,"  he  added,  grimly,  "  that  the 
eighty  beaver  skins  which  are  now1  being  stowed 
away  in  my  berth  are  my  property." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  replied  Trowley.  "  An'  may 
43 


44  Brothers  of  Peril 

I  ask  how  ye  come  by  such  a  power  o'  trade  in  a 
night-time?  " 

"  Yes,  you  may  ask,"  replied  Kingswell.  He 
grinned  at  the  wounded  skipper  for  fully  a  minute, 
leaning  on  the  edge  of  the  bunk.  Then  he  said : 
"  I'll  now  bid  you  farewell  until  October.  Don't 
sail  without  me,  good  Master  Trowley,  and  look 
not  upon  the  rum  of  the  Indies  when  that  same 
is  red.  A  knife-thrust  given  in  drunkenness  might 
lead  to  the  gallows." 

He  turned  and  nimbly  scaled  the  companion- 
ladder,  leaving  the  shipmaster  speechless  with  rage. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  staunch  little  craft  Peli- 
can spread  her  square  sail  and  slid  away  from  the 
Heart  of  tfie  West.  She  was  manned  by  old  Tom 
Bent,  young  Peter  Harding,  and  Richard  Clot- 
worthy.  Master  Bernard  Kingswell  sat  at  the  til- 
ler, with  Ouenwa  beside  him.  Their  provisions, 
extra  clothing,  arms,  and  ammunition  were  stowed 
amidships  and  covered  with  sail-cloth.  The  sun 
was  bright,  and  the  sky  blue.  The  wind  bowled 
them  along  at  a  clipping  pace.  From  a  mound 
above  the  harbour  Black  Feather  gazed  after  them 
under  a  level  hand.  In  the  little  harbour  Trowley's 
ship  alone  swung  in  her  anchorage.  The  others 
had  run  out  to  the  fishing-grounds,  —  for  in  those 
days  the  fishing  was  done  over  the  sides  of  the 


The   Fangs  of  the   Wolf  Slayer     45 

ships,  and  not  from  small  boats.  On  either  side 
the  brown  shores  fell  back,  and  the  dancing  waters 
widened  and  widened.  White  gulls  screamed  above 
and  around  them,  flashing  silvery  wings,  snowy 
breasts,  and  inquisitive  eyes. 

Ouenwa  looked  back,  and  then  ahead,  and  felt 
a  great  misgiving.  But  Kingswell  patted  him  on 
the  shoulder,  and  the  sailors  nodded  their  heads  at 
him  and  grinned. 

Soon  they  were  among  the  fleet.  The  ungainly, 
high-sterned  vessels  rocked  and  bobbed  under  naked 
spars.  The  great  business  that  had  brought  them 
so  far  was  going  forward.  Along  both  sides  of 
every  ship  were  hung  barrels,  and  in  each  barrel 
was  stationed  a  man  with  two  or  more  fishing- 
lines.  Splashing  desperately,  the  great  fish  were 
hauled  up,  unhooked,  and  tossed  to  the  deck  be- 
hind. As  the  little  Pelican  slid  by,  the  fishers 
paused  in  their  work  to  cheer  her,  and  wave  their 
caps.  The  masters  shouted  "  God  speed "  from 
their  narrow  quarter-decks,  and  doffed  their  hats. 
Kingswell  waved  them  gracious  farewells ;  Ouenwa 
gazed  spellbound  toward  the  widening  outlook;  and 
Tom  Bent  trimmed  the  sail  to  a  nicety. 

They  passed  headland  after  headland,  rocky 
island  after  rocky  island,  cove  after  cove.  The 
shores  behind  them  turned  from  brown  to  purple, 


46  Brothers  of  Peril 

and  from  purple  to  azure.  The  waves  ran  higher 
and  the  wind  freshened.  Kingswell  shaped  the 
boat's  course  a  few  points  to  the  northward.  The 
stout  little  craft  skipped  like  a  lamb  and  plunged 
like  some  less  playful  creature.  Spray  flew  over 
her  blunt  bows,  and  the  sailors  laughed  like  chil- 
dren, and  called  her  a  brave  lass,  and  many  other 
endearing  names,  as  if  she  were  human. 

"  A  smart  wench,  sir,"  said  Tom  Bent  to  Master 
Kingswell.  The  commander  nodded,  and  shifted  the 
tiller  knowingly.  His  blue  eyes  were  flashing  with 
the  excitement  of  the  speed  and  motion.  His  bright, 
pale  hair  streamed  in  the  wind.  He  leaned  forward, 
to  pick  out  the  course  through  a  group  of  small 
islands  that  cluttered  the  bay  ahead  of  them.  He 
gave  an  order,  and  the  seamen  hauled  on  the  wet 
sheet.  But  Ouenwa  did  not  share  the  high  spirits 
of  his  companions.  A  terrible,  unknown  feeling 
got  hold  of  him.  His  dark  cheeks  lost  their  bloom. 
Kingswell  glanced  at  him. 

"  Let  it  go,  lad,"  he  said.  "  A  sailor  is  made  in 
this  way.  Tom,  pass  me  along  a  blanket." 

With  his  unemployed  hand  he  fixed  a  comfort- 
able rest  for  the  boy,  and  helped  him  to  a  drink  of 
water.  For  an  hour  or  more  he  maintained  a  hold 
on  the  young  Beothic's  belt,  for,  by  this  time,  the 
soaring  and  sinking  of  the  Pelican  were  enough  to 


The   Fangs   of  the  Wolf  Slayer     47 

unsteady  even  a  seasoned  mariner.  As  for 
Ouenwa !  —  the  poor  lad  simply  clung  to  the 
gunwale  with  the  grip  of  despair,  and  entertained 
regretful,  beautiful  visions  of  level  shores  and  un- 
shaken hills.  Tom  Bent  eyed  him  kindly. 

"  The  young  un  has  it  wicked,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  Maybe,  like  as  not,  a  swig  o'  rum  ud  sweeten 
his  bilge,  sir." 

Kingswell  acted  on  the  old  tar's  advice.  The 
rank  liquor  completed  the  boy's  breakdown.  In 
so  doing  it  served  the  purpose  which  Bent  had  in- 
tended. The  sufferer  was  soon  sleeping  soundly, 
already  half  a  sailor. 

When  Ou-enwa  next  took  interest  in  his  sur- 
roundings, the  Pelican  had  the  surf  of  a  sheer 
coast  close  aboard  on  her  port  side.  She  was 
heading  due  north.  The  sun  was  half-way  down 
his  western  slope.  Behind  the  Pelican's  bubbling 
wake,  hills  and  headlands  and  high,  naked  barrens 
lay  brown  and  purple  and  smoky  blue.  In  front, 
and  on  the  right  hand,  loomed  surf-rimmed  islands 
and  flashed  the  innumerable,  ever-altering  yet  un- 
changed hills  and  valleys  of  the  deep.  Tom  Bent 
was  now  at  the  tiller,  and  Kingswell  was  in  the 
bows,  gazing  intently  at  the  austere  coast.  Ouenwa 
crawled  over  the  thwarts  and  cargo  of  provisions, 
under  the  straining  sail,  and  crouched  beside  him. 


48  Brothers  of  Peril 

His  head  felt  light  and  his  stomach  painfully  empty, 
but  again  life  seemed  worth  living  and  the  adven- 
ture worth  while. 

About  an  hour  before  sunset  the  Pelican  ran  into 
a  little  cove,  and  her  two  grappling  anchors  were 
heaved  overboard.  She  lay  within  five  yards  of  the 
land-wash,  swinging  on  an  easy  tide.  Ouenwa 
sprang  into  the  water  and  waded  ashore.  It  was 
a  dismal  anchorage,  with  only  a  strip  of  shingle, 
and  grim  cliffs  rising  in  front  and  on  either  hand. 
But  at  the  base  of  the  cliffs,  in  fissures  of  the  rock, 
grew  stunted  spruce-trees  and  birches.  Ouenwa 
soon  found  a  little  stream  dribbling  a  zigzag  course 
from  the  levels  above.  It  gathered,  clear  and  cold, 
in  a  shallow  basin  at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  from 
there  spilled  over  into  the  obliterating  sand. 

By  this  time  the  others  were  ashore.  Clotworthy 
hacked  down  a  couple  of  armfuls  of  the  spruce  and 
birch  shrubs  with  his  cutlass,  and  started  a  fire. 
Then  he  filled  a  pot  from  the  little  well  and  com- 
menced preparations  for  a  meal.  The  other  seamen 
erected  a  shelter,  composed  of  a  sail  and  three  oars, 
against  the  cliff.  Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  sat  on  a 
convenient  boulder,  and  the  commander  filled  a 
long  pipe  with  tobacco  and  lit  it  at  a  brand  from 
the  fire.  He  seemed  in  high  spirits,  and  in  a  mood 
to  further  his  young  companion's  education.  Point- 


The   Fangs   of  the   Wolf  Slayer     49 

ing  to  the  roll  of  Virginian  leaf,  from  which  he  had 
cut  the  charge  for  his  pipe,  he  said,  "  Tobacco." 
Ouenwa  repeated  it  many  times,  and  nodded  his 
comprehension.  Then  Kingswell  pointed  to  old 
Tom  Bent,  who  was  watching  Clotworthy  drop 
lumps  of  dried  venison  into  the  pot  of  water. 

"  Boatswain,"  he  said. 

Ouenwa  mastered  the  word,  as  well  as  the  term 
"  able  seamen,"  applied  to  Clotworthy  and  Peter 
Harding.  By  that  time  the  stew  was  ready  for 
them.  They  were  all  sound  asleep,  under  their  frail 
shelter,  before  the  last  glimmer  of  twilight  was  gone 
from  the  sky. 

It  was  very  early  when  Ouenwa  awoke.  A  pale 
flood  of  dawn  illumined  the  tent  and  the  recum- 
bent forms  of  Master  Kingswell  and  Clotworthy. 
Tom  Bent  and  Harding  were  not  in  their  places. 
The  boy  wondered  at  that,  but  was  about  to  close 
his  eyes  again,  when  he  was  startled  to  his  feet 
by  a  shrill  cry  that  went  ringing  overhead  and 
echoing  along  the  cliffs.  He  darted  from  the  tent, 
with  Kingswell  and  Clotworthy  hot  on  his  heels. 
Bent  and  Harding  were  on  the  extreme  edge  of 
the  beach,  with  their  backs  to  the  sea,  staring  up- 
ward. Ouenwa  and  the  others  turned  their  faces, 
in  the  same  direction.  They  were  amazed  to  see 
about  a  dozen  native  warriors  on  the  cliff  above 


50  Brothers  of  Peril 

them,  fully  armed,  and  evidently  deeply  interested 
in  what  was  going  on  in  the  little  cove.  One  of 
them  was  pointing  to  the  Pelican,  and  talking  vehe- 
mently to  the  brave  beside  him.  In  two  of  them 
Ouemva  recognized  young  Wolf  Slayer,  and  his 
father,  the  chief  of  the  village  on  the  River  of 
Three  Fires.  He  called  up  to  them,  and  asked  what 
brought  them  so  far  from  their  village. 

"  We  are  at  the  salt  water  to  take  the  fish,"  re- 
plied Wolf  Slayer,  "  and  we  saw  the  smoke  of  your 
fire  before  the  last  darkness.  But  what  do  you 
with  the  great  strangers,  little  Dreamer  ?  " 

"  They  are  my  friends,"  replied  Ouenwa,  "  and 
I  am  voyaging  with  them  to  learn  wisdom." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  asked  Kings- 
well. 

The  lad  tried  to  explain.  He  pointed  to  the  tent 
and  provisions  and  then  to  the  boat.  "  Put  in," 
he  said. 

At  a  word  from  Kingswell  the  three  sailors 
quickly  dismantled  their  night's  shelter  and  carried 
the  sail,  the  oars,  and  such  food  and  blankets  as 
they  had  brought  ashore,  out  to  the  Pelican.  At 
that  the  shrill  cry  rang  out  again,  and  echoed  along 
the  cliffs. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  inquired  Kingswell. 

"  Bad,"   replied  Ouenwa,  shortly. 


The   Fangs   of  the  Wolf  Slayer     51 

"What  is  in  your  fine  canoe,  little  Dreamer?" 
called  Wolf  Slayer. 

"  Our  food  and  our  clothing,  little  Fox  Stabber," 
Ouenwa  cried  back,  with  indignation  in  his  voice. 

"  Your  dreams  must  have  unsettled  your  wits, 
my  friend,"  replied  Wolf  Slayer,  "  or  you  would 
not  talk  so  loud  before  a  chief  of  the  tribe." 

Just  then,  in  answer  to  the  cry  that  had  sounded 
so  dismally  across  the  dawn  a  few  moments  before, 
five  more  warriors,  armed  with  bows,  appeared  on 
the  top  of  the  cliff  —  for  the  cry  was  the  hunting- 
call  of  the  tribe. 

"  Do  you  fish  with  war-bows  ?  "  shouted  Ouenwa. 
"  And  why  do  you  summon  to  trade  with  the  cry 
of  the  hunt?" 

"  You  ask  too  many  questions,  even  for  a  seeker 
of  wisdom,"  replied  the  other  youth,  mockingly. 

"  Does  Soft  Hand,  the  great  bear,  slumber,  that 
the  foxes  bark  with  such  assurance  ? "  retorted 
Ouenwa. 

By  this  time  the  Pelican  was  ready  to  put  out 
of  the  cove.  Both  anchors  were  up,  and  Harding 
and  Clotworthy  held  her  off  with  the  oars.  Old 
Tom  Bent  was  also  in  the  boat,  busy  with  some- 
thing beside  the  mast.  Suddenly  a  bow-string 
twanged,  and  an  arrow  buried  its  flint  head  in  the 
sand  at  Kingswell's  feet.  Another  struck  a  stone 


52  Brothers  of  Peril 

and,  glancing  out,  rattled  against  Harding's  oar. 
Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  backed  hastily  into  the 
water.  Above  them,  silhouetted  against  the  light- 
ening sky,  they  saw  bending  bows  and  downward 
thrust  arms.  Then,  with  a  clap  and  a  roar,  and 
a  gust  of  smoke,  old  Tom  Bent  replied  to  the  war- 
riors on  the  cliff.  The  echoes  of  the  discharge 
bellowed  around  and  around  the  rock-girt  harbour. 
Ouenwa  and  Kingswell  sprang  through  the  smoke 
and  climbed  aboard,  and  the  seamen  pushed  into 
deep  water  and  then  bent  to  their  oars.  But  the 
Pelican  proved  a  heavy  boat  to  row,  with  her  blunt 
bows  and  comfortable  beam.  She  surged  slowly 
beyond  the  cloud  of  bitter  smoke  that  the  musket 
had  hung  in  the  windless  air.  Clear  of  that,  the 
voyagers  looked  for  their  treacherous  assailants  — 
and,  behold,  the  great  warriors  were  not  to  be 
seen.  Kingswell  and  the  three  seamen  laughed,  as 
if  the  incident  \vere  a  fine  joke;  but  Ouenwa  was 
hot  with  shame  and  anger.  He  stood  erect  and 
shouted  abuse  to  the  deserted  cliff-top.  He  called 
upon  Wolf  Slayer  and  Panounia  to  show  their  cow- 
ardly faces.  He  threatened  them  with  the  dis- 
pleasure of  Soft  Hand  and  with  the  anger  of  the 
English.  A  figure  appeared  on  the  sky-line. 

"  You  speak  of  Soft  Hand,"  it  cried.     "  Know 
you,  then,  that  Soft  Hand  set  out  on  the  Long  Trail 


The   Fangs   of  the  Wolf  Slayer      53 

four  suns  ago,  when  he  marched  into  my  village  to 
dispute  my  power.  I,  Panounia,  am  now  the  great 
chief  of  the  people.  So  carry  yourself  accordingly, 
O  whelp  without  teeth  and  without  a  den  to  crawl 
into.  Whose  hand  has  overthrown  the  lodge  of 
the  totem  of  the  Black  Bear?  Mine!  Panounia's! 
Soft  Hand  has  fallen  under  it  as  his  son,  your 
father,  succumbed  to  it  when  you  were  a  squalling 
babe."  He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  held  out  a 
gleaming  knife,  with  its  point  toward  the  Pelican. 
"  The  totem  of  the  Wolf  now  hangs  from  the  great 
lodge,"  he  cried. 

Quick  and  noiseless  as  a  breath,  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  was  lined  with  warriors.  Like  a  sudden  flight 
of  birds  their  arrows  flashed  outward  and  down- 
ward. 

"  Lie  down !  "  cried  Kingswell.  With  a  strong 
hand  he  snatched  Ouenwa  to  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
Harding  and  Clotworthy  sprawled  forward  between 
the  thwarts.  Only  Tom  Bent,  crouched  beside  the 
naked  mast,  did  not  move.  The  arrows  thumped 
against  plank  and  gunwale.  They  pierced  the 
cargo.  They  glanced  from  tiller  and  sweep  and 
mast.  One,  turning  from  the  rail,  struck  Bent  on 
the  shoulder.  He  cursed  angrily,  but  did  not  look 
for  the  wound.  His  match  was  burning  with  a 
thread  of  blue  smoke  and  a  spark  of  red  fire.  His 


54  Brothers   of  Peril 

clumsy  gun  was  geared  to  the  rail  by  an  impromptu 
swivel  of  cords.  He  lay  flat  and  elevated  the 
muzzle. 

"  Steady  her,"  he  said,  softly.  "  She's  driftin' 
in." 

Kingswell  sprang  forward  to  one  of  the  oars, 
thrust  it  to  the  bottom,  and  held  the  boat  as  steady 
as  might  be.  Arrows  whispered  around  him.  He 
shouted  a  challenge  to  the  befeathered  warriors 
above  him.  Tom  touched  the  slow-match  to  the 
quick  fuse.  Something  hissed  and  sizzled.  A 
plume  of  smoke  darted  up.  Then,  with  a  rebound 
that  shook  the  boat  from  stem  to  stern,  the  gun 
hurled  forth  its  lead,  and  fire,  and  black  breath  of 
hate. 

"  Double  charge,  sir,"  gasped  Tom  Bent,  from 
where  he  sagged  against  the  mast.  The  kick  of 
his  musket  had  hurt  him  more  than  the  blow  from 
the  arrow. 

Again  the  Pelican  fought  her  way  toward  the 
open  waters,  with  Harding  and  Clotworthy  pulling 
lustily  at  the  sweeps.  Kingswell,  flushed  and  joy- 
ful, sat  at  the  tiller  and  headed  her  for  the  channel, 
through  which  the  tide  was  running  landward  at 
a  fair  pace.  Bent  was  busy  reloading  his  firearm. 
Ouenwa  stood  in  the  stern-sheets,  with  his  bow 
in  his  left  hand  and  an  arrow  on  the  string.  A 


The   Fangs  of  the  Wolf  Slayer     55 

breath  of  wind  brushed  the  smoke  aside  and  cleared 
the  view.  Ouenwa  pointed'  to  the  beach,  and  gave 
vent  to  a  shrill  whoop  of  triumph.  The  others 
looked,  and  saw  a  huddled  shape  of  bronzed  limbs 
and  painted  leather  at  the  foot  of  the  rock. 

"  One  more  red  devil  for  hell,"  muttered  the 
boatswain.  "  I  learned  mun  to  shoot  his  pesky 
sticks  at  a  Bristol  gentleman." 

As  if  in  answer,  an  arrow  bit  a  splinter  from 
the  mast,  not  six  inches  from  the  old  man's  head. 
Ouenwa's  bow  bent,  and  sprang  straight.  The 
shaft  flew  with  all  the  skill  that  Montaw  had  taught 
the  boy,  and  with  all  the  hate  that  was  in  his  heart 
for  the  big  murderer  on  the  cliff.  Every  man  of 
the  little  company  narrowed  his  eyes  to  follow  the 
flight  of  it.  They  saw  it  curve.  They  saw  a  war- 
rior drop  his  bow  from  his  menacing  hand  and  sink 
to  his  knees. 

"  The  w'olf  falls,"  cried  Ouenwa,  in  his  own 
tongue.  "  The  wolf  bites  the  moss.  Who,  now, 
is  the  wolf  slayer?  " 

The  Englishmen  cheered  again  and  again,  and 
the  good  boat  Pelican,  urged  forward  by  triumphant 
sinews,  won  through  the  channel  and  swam  into  the 
outer  waters. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  SILENT   VILLAGE 

As  soon  as  the  Pelican  was  out  of  arrow-shot 
of  the  cliff,  the  Beothics  disappeared.  Ouenwa 
laid  aside  his  bow  with  a  sigh  of  regret.  Then 
he  tried  to  repeat  to  Kingswell  what  he  had  heard 
from  Panounia.  After  a  deal  of  questioning,  sign- 
making,  and  mental  exertion,  the  Englishman  gath- 
ered the  information  that  treachery  and  murder  had 
taken  place  up  the  river,  and  that  his  young  friend 
hated  the  new  leader  of  the  tribe  with  a  bitter 
hatred.  He  did  not  wonder  at  the  bitterness.  He 
looked  at  the  young  savage's  flushed  face  and  glow- 
ing eyes  with  sympathy  and  admiration.  His  lik- 
ing for  the  boy  had  grown  in  every  hour  of  their 
companionship,  and,  by  this  time,  had  developed 
into  a  decided  fondness. 

"  Sit  down,  lad,  and  let  your  guns  cool,"  he 
said,  with  a  light  hand  on  the  other's  knee.  "  Your 
enemies  are  my  enemies,"  he  continued,  "  and  we'll 
fight  the  dogs  every  time  we  see  'em." 

56 


The   Silent  Village  57 

Ouenwa  sat  quiet  and  tried  to  look  calm.  He 
was  soothed  by  the  evident  kindliness  of  Kingswell's 
tone  and  manner,  though  he  had  failed  to  translate 
his  speech.  The  men  on  the  thwarts  had  caught 
the  w'ords,  however.  They  nodded  heavily  to  one 
another. 

"  Ye  say  the  very  word  what  was  in  my  mind, 
sir,"  spoke  up  Tom  Bent,  "  an',  if  I  may  make  so 
bold  as  to  say  further,  your  enemies  be  your  ser- 
vants' enemies,  sir.  Therefore  the  young  un's  ene- 
mies must  be  our  enemies,  holus  bolus."  The  other 
sailors  nodded  decidedly.  "  Therefore,"  continued 
Tom  Bent,  "  all  they  cowardly  heathen  aft  on  the 
cliff  has  to  reckon,  hereafter,  with  Thomas  Bent 
an'  the  crew  o'  this  craft." 

"  Well  spoken,  Tom,"  replied  Kingswell,  with 
the  smile  that  always  won  him  the  heart  and  hand 
of  every  man  he  favoured  with  it,  —  and  of  every 
maid,  too,  more  than  likely.  "  But  we  can't  en- 
thuse on  empty  stomachs.  Pass  out  the  bread  and 
the  cold  meat,"  he  added. 

For  fully  two  hours  the  Pelican  rocked  about 
within  half  a  mile  of  her  night's  anchorage.  Kings- 
well  was  not  in  a  desperate  hurry,  and  so  his  men 
pulled  at  the  oars  just  enough  to  hold  the  boat 
clear  of  the  rocks.  A  sharp  lookout  was  kept  along 


58  Brothers   of  Peril 

the  coast,  but  not  a  sight  nor  a  sound  of  the  Beo- 
thics  rewarded  their  vigilance. 

"  They  be  up  to  some  devilment,  ye  may  lay 
to  that,"  said  Tom  Bent. 

At  last  a  wind  fluttered  to  them  out  of  the  nor'- 
east,  and  the  square  sail  was  hoisted  and  sheeted 
home.  Again  the  Pelican  dipped  her  bows  and  wet 
her  rail  on  the  voyage  of  exploration. 

After  two  hours  of  sailing,  and  just  when  they 
were  off  the  mouth  of  a  little  river  and  a  fair  valley, 
a  fog  overtook  them.  Kingswell  was  for  running 
in,  but  Ouenwa  objected. 

"  Panounia  follow,"  he  said.  "  He  great  angry. 
Drop  irons,"  he  added,  pointing  to  the  little  anchors. 

"  Panounia  is  wounded.  You  winged  him  your- 
self," replied  Kingswell.  "  He  could  not  follow  us 
around  that  coast,  lad,  at  the  clip  we  were  coming." 

Ouenwa  considered  the  words  with  puckered 
brows.  They  were  beyond  him.  The  commander 
pointed  shoreward. 

"  All  safe,"  he  said.     "  All  safe." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  lad.     "  All  kill.     No  safe." 

During  this  controversy  the  sail  had  been  partly 
lowered,  and  the  Pelican  had  been  slowly  running 
landward  with  the  fog. 

Kingswell  looked  from  the  young  Beothic  to  the 
seamen  with  a  smile  of  whimsical  uncertainty. 


The   Silent  Village  59 

"  Out  o'  the  mouths  o'  babes  an'  sucklin's,"  re- 
marked Tom  Bent,  with  his  deep-set  eyes  fixed  on 
nothing  in  particular.  Kingswell's  glance  rested, 
for  a  moment,  on  the  ancient  mariner. 

"  Lower  away,"  he  said.  The  sail  flapped  down, 
and  was  quickly  stowed.  "  Let  go  the  anchors," 
he  commanded.  The  grapplings  splashed  into  the 
gray  waves.  The  fog  crawled  over  the  boat  and 
shut  her  off  from  land  and  sky.  With  a  last  dreary 
whistle,  the  wind  died  out  entirely. 

"  Rip  me !  "  exclaimed  Master  Kings  well,  "  but 
here  is  caution  that  smells  remarkably  like  coward- 
ice." Fretfully  sighing,  he  produced  his  pipe,  to- 
bacco, and  tinder-box.  Soon  the  fragrant  smoke 
was  mingling  with  the  fog.  The  young  commander 
leaned  back,  taking  his  comfort  where  he  could,  like 
the  courageous  gentleman  that  he  was.  The  habit 
of  burning  Virginian  tobacco  was  an  expensive  one, 
confined  to  the  wealthy  and  the  adventurous.  The 
seamen,  who,  of  course,  had  not  yet  acquired  it, 
watched  their  captain  with  open  interest.  When 
a  puff  was  blown  through  the  nostrils,  or  sent  aloft 
in  a  series  of  rings,  they  nudged  one  another,  like 
children  at  a  show.  By  this  time  the  walls  of  fog 
had  made  of  the  Pelican  a  tiny,  lost  world  by  itself. 
Suddenly  Ouenwa  raised  his  hand.  "Sh!"  he 
whispered.  Kingswell  removed  the  pipe-stem  from 


60  Brothers  of  Peril 

his  mouth,  and  inclined  his  head  toward  the  hidden 
river  and  valley.  All  strained  their  ears,  to  wrest 
some  sound  from  the  surrounding  gray  other  than 
the  lapping  of  the  tide  along  the  unseen  land-wash. 
But  they  could  hear  nothing. 

"  Village,"  whispered  Ouenwa,  pointing  land- 
ward. 

"  But  we  saw  no  signs  of  a  village,"  protested 
Kingswell,  gently. 

"  Village,"  repeated  the  lad.  "  Ouenwa  hear. 
Ouenwa  smell." 

Immediately  the  four  Englishmen  began  to  sniff 
the  fog,  like  hounds  taking  a  scent  on  the  wind. 
But  their  nostrils  were  not  the  nostrils  of  either 
hounds  or  Beothics.  They  sniffed  to  no  purpose. 
They  shook  their  heads.  Kingswell  wagged  a 
chiding  finger  at  their  keen-nosed  companion.  The 
boy  read  the  inference  of  the  gesture,  and  flushed 
indignantly. 

"  Village,"  he  whispered,  shrilly.  "  Village,  vil- 
lage, village." 

Kingswell  looked  distressed.  The  sailors  grinned 
leniently  at  the  determined  boy.  They  had  great 
faith  in  their  own  noses,  had  those  mariners  of 
Bristol  and  thereabouts.  Ouenwa,  frowning  a  little, 
sank  into  a  moody  contemplation  of  the  fog. 

"  This  is  dull,"  exclaimed  Kingswell,  after  a  half- 


The   Silent  Village  6 1 

hour  of  silence.  "  Tom,  pipe  us  a  stave,  like  a 
good  lad." 

The  boatswain  scratched  his  head  reflectively. 
Presently  he  cleared  his  throat  with  energy. 

"  Me  voice  be  a  bit  husky,  sir,  to  what  it  once 
were,"  he  murmured,  "  but  I'll  do  me  best  —  an' 
no  sailorman  can  say  fairer  nor  that." 

Straightway  he  struck  into  a  heroic  ballad  of  a 
sea-fight,  in  a  high,  tottering  tenor.  The  song 
dealt  with  Spanish  swagger  and  English  daring, 
with  bloody  decks,  falling  spars,  and  flying  splin- 
ters. Harding  joined  in  the  chorus  with  a  boom- 
ing bass.  Clotworthy  and  the  commander  soon 
followed.  Kingswell's  voice  was  clear  and  strong 
and  wonderfully  melodious.  Ouenwa's  eyes  glowed 
and  his  muscles  trembled.  Though  the  words  held 
no  meaning  for  him,  the  rollicking,  dashing  swing 
of  the  tune  fired  his  excitable  blood.  He  forgot 
all  about  Panounia,  and  the  suspected  village  on 
the  river  so  near  at  hand  ceased  to  trouble  him. 
He  beat  time  to  the  singing  with  his  moccasined 
feet,  and  clapped  his  hands  together  in  rhythmic 
appreciation  of  his  comrades'  efforts.  In  time  the 
ballad  was  finished.  The  last  member  of  the  craven 
crew  of  the  Teressa  Maria  had  tasted  English  steel 
and  been  tossed  to  the  sharks.  Then  Master  Kings- 
well  sprang  to  his  feet  and  sang  a  sentimental  ditty. 


62  Brothers  of  Peril 

It  was  of  roses  and  fountains,  of  latticed  windows 
and  undying  affection.  The  air  was  captivating. 
The  singer's  voice  rang  tender  and  clear.  Old 
Tom  Bent  remembered  lost  years.  Harding 
thought  of  a  Devon  orchard,  and  of  a  Devon  lass 
at  work  harvesting  the  ruddy  fruit.  Clotworthy 
saw  a  cottage  beside  a  little  wood,  and  a  woman 
and  a  little  child  gazing  seaward  and  westward 
from  the  door. 

For  several  seconds  after  the  last  note  had  died 
away,  the  little  company  remained  silent  and  mo- 
tionless, fully  occupied  with  its  various  thoughts. 
Ouenwa  was  the  first  to  break  the  spell  of  the  song. 
He  laid  his  hand  on  Kingswell's  arm  with  a  quick 
gesture,  and  leaned  toward  him. 

"  Canoe,"  he  whispered. 

The  sound  that  had  caught  Ouenwa's  attention 
was  repeated  —  a  short  rap,  like  the  inadvertent 
striking  of  a  paddle  against  a  gunwale.  They  all 
heard  it,  and,  with  as  little  noise  as  possible,  set 
to  work  at  getting  out  cutlasses  and  loading  mus- 
kets. Kingswell  crawled  forward  and  whispered 
with  old  Tom  Bent.  The  boatswain  nodded  and 
turned  to  Harding.  That  sturdy  young  seaman 
crawled  to  the  bows  and  placed  his  hands  on  the 
hawser  of  the  forward  anchor.  He  looked  aft. 
Kingswell,  who  had  returned  to  his  seat  at  the 


The   Silent   Village  63 

tiller,  leaned  over  the  stern  and  cut  the  manilla 
rope  that  tethered  the  boat  at  that  end.  Harding 
immediately  pulled  on  his  rope  until  he  was  directly 
over  the  light  bow  anchor.  Then,  strongly  and 
slowly,  and  without  noise,  he  brought  the  four- 
fingered  iron  up  and  into  the  bows.  They  were 
free  of  the  bottom,  anyway,  and  with  the  loss  of 
only  one  anchor.  Kingswell  breathed  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

The  Pelican  drifted,  and  the  crew1  stared  into 
the  fog,  with  wide  eyes  and  alert  ears.  Then,  to 
seaward  and  surely  not  ten  yards  away,  sounded 
a  plover-call.  Kingswell  signalled  to  Bent  to  man 
the  seaward  side  and  Clotworthy  and  Harding  the 
other.  They  rested  the  barrels  of  their  great  match- 
locks on  the  gunwales.  Suddenly  the  prow  of  a 
canoe  pierced  the  curtain  of  fog  not  four  yards 
from  Tom  Bent.  He  touched  the  match  to  the 
short  fuse.  There  was  a  terrific  report,  and  a 
chorus  of  wild  yells.  In  the  excitement  that  fol- 
lowed, the  others  discharged  their  pieces.  Kings- 
well  grabbed  an  oar,  slipped  it  into  a  notch  beside 
the  tiller  and  began  to  "  scull "  the  boat  seaward. 
The  men  reloaded  their  muskets  and  peered  into 
the  fog.  They  heard  splashings  and  cries  on  all 
sides,  but  could  see  nothing.  Ouenwa,  standing 


64  Brothers  of  Peril 

erect,  discharged  arrow  after  arrow  at  the  hidden 
enemy. 

The  splashings  grew  fainter,  and  the  cries  ceased 
entirely.  Kingswell  passed  the  oar  which  he  had 
been  using  to  Harding,  and  told  the  men  to  lay 
aside  their  muskets  and  row.  Ouenwa  let  fly  his 
last  arrow,  in  the  names  of  his  murdered  father 
and  grandfather. 

For  a  long  and  weary  time  the  Pelican  lay  off 
the  hidden  land,  shrouded  in  fog  and  silence.  A 
few  hours  before  sunset  a  wind  from  the  west  found 
her  out,  drove  away  the  fog,  and  disclosed  the 
sea  and  the  coast  and  the  open  sky. 

"  Pull  her  head  'round,"  commanded  Kingswell, 
"  and  hoist  the  sail.  We  are  going  back  to  have  a 
look  at  that  village." 

The  men  obeyed  eagerly.  They  were  itching  for 
a  chance  to  repay  the  savages  for  the  fright  in  the 
dark. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

A   LETTER   FOR   OUENWA 

Two  headlands  were  rounded  before  the  valley 
of  the  river  opened  again  to  the  eyes  of  the 
adventurers.  The  brown  water  of  the  stream  stole 
down  and  merged  into  the  dancing,  wind-bitten 
sea.  The  gradual  hillsides,  green-swarded,  basked 
in  the  golden  light.  The  lower  levels  of  the  valley 
were  already  in  shadow.  No  sign  of  man,  or  of 
his  habitation,  was  disclosed  to  the  voyagers. 

"  A  fair  spot,"  remarked  Kingswell.  "  I  feel  a 
desire  stirring  within  me  to  stretch  my  legs  on  that 
grassy  bank.  What  do  you  say  to  the  idea,  Tom  ?  " 

The  old  fellow  grinned.  "  'Twould  be  pleasant, 
sir,  an'  no  mistake,"  he  replied  —  "a  little  walk 
along  the  brook,  with  our  hands  not  very  far  from 
our  hangers.  Ay,  sir,  Tom  Bent's  for  a  spell  o' 
nater  worship." 

The  boat  ran  in,  and  was  beached  on  the  sand 
well  within  the  mouth  of  the  river.  Harding  and 
Clotworthy,  with  loaded  muskets,  were  left  on 

6s 


66  Brothers  of  Peril 

guard,  and  the  other  three,  fully  armed,  started 
along  the  bank  of  the  stream.  They  advanced  cau- 
tiously, with  a  sharp  lookout  on  every  clump  of 
bushes  and  every  spur  of  rock.  A  kingfisher 
dropped  from  its  perch  above  the  water  and  flew 
up-stream  with  shrill  clamour.  They  turned  a  bend 
of  the  little  river  and  halted  short  in  their  track 
with  muttered  exclamations.  Before  them,  on  a 
level  meadow  between  the  brown  waters  of  the 
stream  and  the  dark  green  wall  of  the  forest,  stood 
half  a  dozen  wigwams.  The  place  seemed  deserted. 
They  scanned  the  dark  edge  of  the  wood  and  the 
brown  hills  behind.  They  peered  everywhere,  ex- 
pecting to  catch  the  glint  of  hostile  eyes  at  every 
turn.  But  neither  grove  nor  hill,  nor  silent  lodge, 
disclosed  any  sign  of  life. 

"Where  the  devil  are  they?"  exclaimed  Kings- 
well,  thoroughly  perplexed. 

Ouenwa  smiled,  and  swept  his  hand  in  a  half- 
circle. 

"  Watch  us,"  he  remarked,  nodding  his  head. 
"Yes,  watch  us." 

"  He  means  they  are  lying  around  looking  at 
us,"  said  Kingswell  to  the  boatswain.  "  Rip  me, 
but  I  don't  relish  the  chance  of  one  of  those  stone- 
tipped  arrows  in  my  vitals." 

Tom  Bent  glanced  about  him  in  visible  trepida- 


A   Letter   for   Ouenwa  67 

tion.  Ouenwa  noticed  it,  and  pointed  to  the  sea- 
musket.  "  No  'fraid,"  he  said.  "  Shoot." 

"What  at?"  inquired  Bent. 

"Make  shoot,"  cried  the  boy,  indicating  the  si- 
lent wood,  dusky  in  the  gathering  shadows. 

"  He  wants  you  to  fire  into  the  wood,  and 
frighten  them  out,"  said  Kingswell. 

"  If  they  be  there,  I'm  for  lettin'  'em  stay  there," 
replied  Tom. 

However,  he  fixed  his  murderous  weapon  in  its 
support,  aimed  at  the  edge  of  the  forest  beyond 
the  wigwams,  and  fired.  The  flame  cut  across  the 
twilight  like  a  red  sword;  a  dismal  howl  arose 
and  quivered  in  the  air.  It  was  answered  from  the 
hilltops  on  both  sides  of  the  stream. 

Before  the  echoes  had  died  away,  Ouenwa  was 
inside  the  nearest  lodge.  Kingswell  followed,  and 
found  him  dismantling  the  couches  and  walls  of 
their  valuable  furs.  He  instantly  took  a  hand  in 
the  looting.  Soon  each  had  all  he  could  handle. 
They  carried  their  burdens  from  the  lodge,  and, 
with  Tom  as  a  rear-guard,  marched  back  toward 
the  Pelican.  They  had  rounded  the  bend  of  the 
river,  and  the  two  seamen  were  hurrying  to  meet 
them,  when  old  Tom  Bent  suddenly  uttered  an 
indignant  whoop  and  leaped  into  the  air.  His 
musket  flew  from  his  shoulder  and  clattered  against 


68  Brothers  of  Peril 

a  stone.  Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  threw  down  their 
bundles  and  sprang  to  where  he  lay,  kicking  and 
spluttering.  The  feathered  shaft  of  an  arrow  clung 
to  the  middle  of  his  left  thigh.  He  was  swearing 
wildly,  and  vowing  vengeance  on  the  "  heathen 
varment "  who  had  pinked  him. 

Harding  and  Clotworthy  fired  into  the  shadows 
of  the  wooded  hillside,  and  Kingswell  hoisted  the 
struggling  boatswain  to  his  shoulders  and  continued 
his  advance  on  the  boat.  The  old  sailor  begged 
and  implored  his  commander  to  put  him  down, 
assuring  him  that  he  was  more  surprised  than  hurt. 
But  Kingswell  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  his  entreaties, 
and  did  not  release  him  until  they  were  safe  beside 
the  Pelican's  bows.  Just  then  Ouenwa  and  the 
sailors  came  running  up  with  the  looted  pelts.  All 
were  puzzled.  Why  had  the  hidden  enemy  fired 
only  one  arrow,  when  they  might  have  annihilated 
the  little  party  with  a  volley? 

That  night  the  Pelican  lay  at  anchor  in  the  mouth 
of  the  river.  Twice,  during  the  long,  eerie  hours 
between  dark  and  dawn,  the  man  on  duty  woke  his 
companions;  but  on  both  occasions  the  alarms 
proved  to  be  false  —  the  splashing  of  a  marauding 
otter  near  the  shore  or  the  flop  of  a  feeding  trout. 
Under  the  pale  lights  of  the  morning  the  valley  and 
the  stream  lay  as  peaceful  and  deserted  as  on  the 


A   Letter   for   Ouenwa  69 

preceding  evening.  The  voyagers  ate  their  break- 
fast aboard.  Then,  as  soon  as  the  sun  had  cleared 
the  light  mist  from  the  water,  they  got  up  their 
anchor  and  rowed  up-stream.  Harding  and  Clot- 
worthy  pulled  on  the  oars.  Bent  and  the  com- 
mander crouched  in  the  bows,  with  ready  muskets, 
and  Ouenwa  sat  at  the  tiller.  The  current  was 
strong,  and  the  boat  crawled  slowly  against  the 
twirling  sinews  of  water.  Little  patches  of  spin- 
drift, from  some  fall  or  rapid  farther  up  the  river, 
floated  past  them.  The  pebbly  bottom  flashed  be- 
neath the  amber  tide.  Leaping  fish  gleamed  and 
splashed  on  either  hand,  and  sent  silver  circles  rip- 
pling to  the  toiling  boat.  A  moist,  sweet  fragrance 
of  foliage  and  mould  and  dew  filled  the  air. 

Soon  the  deserted  lodges  came  into  view,  stand- 
ing smokeless  and  pathetic  between  the  murmuring 
river  and  the  brooding  trees.  Kingswell  motioned 
to  Ouenwa  to  head  for  the  low  bank  in  front  of 
the  wigwams.  They  landed  without  incident,  and 
all  walked  toward  the  village,  with  their  firearms 
ready  and  their  matches  lighted.  They  explored 
every  lodge  and  even  beat  the  underbrush.  The 
dwellings  had  been  cleared  of  pelts  and  weapons 
and  cooking  utensils  evidently  during  the  night 
A  village  of  this  size  must  have  possessed  at  least 


70  Brothers  of  Peril 

six  canoes;  but  not  a  canoe,  nor  so  much  as  a 
paddle,  could  they  find. 

"  All  run  in  canoe,"  remarked  Ouenwa,  point- 
ing up-stream. 

"  What  be  this  ? "  asked  Tom  Bent,  limping 
toward  Kingswell  w!ith  an  arrow  and  a  small  square 
of  birch  bark  in  his  hand.  He  had  found  the  bark, 
pinned  by  the  arrow,  to  the  side  of  one  of  the  wig- 
wams. Kingswell  examined  it  intently,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"  Pictures,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  it  is  a  letter 
of  some  kind,  in  which  their  wise  man  tells  us 
what  he  thinks  of  us." 

Ouenwa  took  the  bark  and  surveyed  the  roughly 
sketched  figures,  with  which  it  was  covered,  with 
a  scornful  twist  of  his  face. 

"  Wolf,"  he  said,  indicating  the  central  figure. 
"See!  Very  big!  Bear"  —  he  touched  another 
point  of  the  missive  and  then  tapped  his  own  breast 
—  "see  bear!  Him  no  big!  Wolf  eat  bear."  He 
laughed  shrilly,  and  shook  his  head.  "  No,  no," 
he  said.'  "  No,  no." 

"  What  be  mun  jabberin'  about?  "  muttered  Tom 
Bent. 

Kingswell  explained  that  the  bear  stood  for 
Ouenvva's  family,  and  that  the  wolf  was  the  symbol 
of  the  people  who  had  killed  his  grandfather. 


A   Letter   for   Ouenwa  71 

The  Pelican  continued  her  voyage  before  noon, 
and  all  day  skirted  an  austere  and  broken  coast. 
She  crossed  the  mouths  of  many  wide  bays,  steer- 
ing for  the  purple  headlands  beyond.  She  rounded 
many  islands  and  braved  intricate  channels. 
Toward  evening  she  rounded  a  bluffer,  grimmer 
cape  than  any  of  the  day's  experience,  and  Kings- 
well,  who  had  just  relieved  Harding  at  the  tiller, 
forsook  the  straight  course  and  headed  up  the  bay. 
Two  hours  of  brisk  sailing  brought  them  to  a 
sheltered  roadstead  behind  an  island  and  just  off 
a  wooded  cove.  They  lowered  the  sail  and  rowed 
in  close  to  the  beach.  They  built  no  fire,  and  spent 
the  night  close  to  the  tide,  with  their  muskets  and 
cutlasses  beside  them,  and  the  watch  changed  every 
two  hours. 

Three  days  later  the  voyagers  happened  upon 
a  ship.  They  ran  close  in  to  where  she  lay  at  an- 
chor, believing  her  to  be  English,  and  did  not  dis- 
cover their  mistake  until  the  little  tub  of  a  brig 
opened  fire  from  a  brass  cannonade.  The  first  shot 
went  wide,  and  the  Pelican  lay  off  with  a  straining 
sail.  The  second  shot  fell  short,  and  that  ended 
the  encounter,  for  the  Frenchmen  were  too  busy 
fishing  to  get  up  anchor  and  give  chase. 

Old  Tom  Bent  was  quite  cast  down  over  the 
incident.  "  It  be  the  first  time,"  he  said,  "  that  I 


72  Brothers   of  Peril 

ever  seen  a  Frencher  admiral  o'  a  bay  in  Newfound- 
land. One  year  I  were  fishin'  in  the  Maid  o'  Bris- 
tol, in  Dog's  Harbour,  Conception,  an',  though  we 
was  last  to  drop  anchor,  an'  the  only  English  ship 
agin  six  Frenchers  and  two  Spanishers,  by  Gad, 
our  skipper  said  he  were  admiral  —  an',  by  Gad,  so 
he  were/' 

But  the  valorous  old  mariner  did  not  suggest 
that  they  put  about  and  dispute  the  admiralty  of  the 
little  harbour  which  they  had  just  passed. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

AN    UNCHARTERED    PLANTATION 

IN  a  cave  in  White  Bay  the  voyagers  traded  with 
a  party  of  friendly  natives.  Farther  north  they 
found  indications  of  copper,  and  collected  a  bagful 
of  the  mother  rock.  In  late  August  a  sickness  pros- 
trated Master  Kingswell  and  Clotworthy,  and  camp 
was  made  on  the  mainland.  For  three  weeks  the 
sufferers  w£re  unable  to  lift  their  heads.  They  lost 
flesh  until  they  were  little  more  than  skin  and  bone. 
Ouenwa  undertook  the  dual  position  of  physician 
and  nurse.  He  had  some  knowledge  of  the  science 
of  medicine,  as  practised  by  the  Beothics,  and  treated 
the  malady  with  teas  of  roots  and  herbs.  He  also 
managed  to  kill  a  young  caribou,  and  fed  his  pa- 
tients with  broth  made  from  the  meat.  But  it  was 
close  upon  the  end  of  September  when  the  Pelican 
again  took  up  her  northward  journey. 

Kingswell's  real  reason  for  this  adventurous 
cruise  was  the  quest  of  gold.  Other  explorers  had 
seen  gold  ore  in  the  possession  of  the  natives,  and 

73 


74  Brothers  of  Peril 

he  had  heard  stories  of  a  French  sailor  having  been 
wounded  by  a  gold-barbed  arrow.  But  the  precious 
metal  eluded  him.  Upon  gaining  the  farthest  cape 
of  the  great  island,  he  wanted  to  cross  the  straits 
and  continue  his  search  along  the  Labrador  coast; 
but  the  men  shook  their  heads.  The  boat  was  too 
small  for  the  voyage.  Their  provisions  were  run- 
ning low.  The  northern  summer  was  already  far 
spent.  So  Kingswell  headed  the  Pelican  south- 
ward. After  a  week  of  fair  winds,  they  were 
caught  in  a  squall,  and  the  starboard  bow  of  their 
stout  little  craft  was  shattered  while  they  were  in 
the  act  of  winning  to  a  sheltered  anchorage.  Every- 
thing was  salvaged;  but  it  took  them  three  days 
to  patch  the  boat  back  to  a  seaworthiness.  Even 
after  this  unlooked-for  delay,  the  young  commander 
persisted  in  exploring  every  likely  looking  cave  and 
river  mouth  that  had  been  neglected  on  the  north- 
ward trip.  The  men  grumbled  sometimes,  but  it 
was  not  in  the  heart  of  any  sailor  to  deny  the 
wishes  of  so  charming  and  brave  a  gentleman  as 
Master  Kingswell.  Ouenwa's  long  conversations 
in  his  partially  acquired  English  helped  to  keep  the 
company  in  good  spirits. 

It  was  November,  and  nipping  weather  in  that 
northern  bay,  when  the  Pelican  threaded  the  islands 
of  Exploits  and  opened  Wigwam  Harbour  to  the 


An  Unchartered  Plantation          75 

eager  gaze  of  her  company.  The  harbour  was 
empty!  They  had  not  sighted  a  vessel  in  any  of 
the  outer  reaches  of  the  bay.  The  drying-stages 
and  fish  stores  stood  deserted  above  the  green  tide. 

Kingswell  turned  a  bloodless  face  toward  his  men. 
"  They  have  sailed  for  home  without  us,"  he  said, 
and  swallowed  hard.  Old  Tom  Bent  gazed  re- 
flectively about  him,  and  scratched  a  hoary  whisker 
with  a  mahogany  finger.  He  had  grumbled  at  the 
chance  of  this  very  disaster,  but  now  that  he  was 
face  to  face  with  it  the  thought  of  grumbling  did 
not  occur  to  him. 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  he,  "  the  damned  rascals  has 
sailed  without  us  —  an'  we  are  lucky  not  to  be 
in  such  dirty  company !  " 

He  spat  contemptuously  over  the  gunwale.  The 
colour  returned  to  Kingswell's  cheeks,  and  a  flash 
of  the  old  humour  to  his  eyes.  He  smiled  approv- 
ingly on  the  boatswain.  But  young  Peter  Hard- 
ing, being  neither  as  old  nor  as  wise  as  Bent,  nor 
as  cool-headed  as  Clotw'orthy,  had  something  to 
say  on  the  subject.  He  ripped  out  an  oath.  Then 
— "  By  God,"  he  cried,  "  here's  one  man  who'd 
rather  sail  in  a  ship  with  what  ye  calls  dirty  com- 
pany, Tom  Bent,  than  starve  in  a  damn  skiff  with 
—  with  you  all,"  he  finished,  lamely. 

Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  looked  at  the  young  sea- 


76  Brothers  of  Peril 

man  with  mute  indignation  in  their  eyes.  But  Tom 
Bent  laughed  softly. 

"  Ay,  Peter,  boy,"  he  said,  "  ye  be  one  o'  these 
fine,  lion-hearted  English  mariners  what's  the  pride 
o'  the  king  an'  the  terror  o'  the  seas.  The  likes 
o'  ye  don't  sail  shipmates  with  men,  but  with  the 
duff  an'  the  soup  an'  the  prize-money."  His  voice 
shrilled  a  little.  "  Ay,  if  it  wasn't  that  I  know  ye 
for  a  better  man  than  ye  sound  just  now,  I'd  ax 
cap'n's  leave  to  twist  the  snivellin'  nose  off  the 
fat  face  o'  ye." 

"  Tom  be  right,"  remarked  Clotworthy,  with  a 
knowing  and  well-considered  wag  of  his  heavy 
head. 

Harding,  who  had  delivered  his  speech  from  a 
commanding  position  on  a  thwart,  sat  down  very 
softly,  as  if  anxious  not  to  attract  any  further  at- 
tention. 

"  We'll  have  a  look  at  the  old  arrow-maker,  lads," 
said  Kingswell,  cheerfully,  "  and  stock  up  with 
enough  dried  venison  to  carry  us  south  to  Trinity, 
or  even  to  Conception.  Ships  often  lie  in  those 
bays  till-  the  snow  flies.  At  the  worst  we  can  sail 
the  old  Pelican  right  'round  to  St.  John's,  and  win- 
ter there.  I'll  wager  the  governor  would  be  glad 
enough  of  a  few  extra  fighting  men  to  scare  off  the 
French  and  the  privateers." 


An  Unchartered  Plantation          77 

Despite  Master  Kingswell's  brave  words,  there 
was  no  store  of  dried  venison  to  be  obtained  from 
the  arrow-maker,  for  both  the  old  philosopher's 
lodge  and  Black  Feather's  were  gone — gone  utterly, 
and  only  the  round,  level  circles  on  the  sward  to 
show  where  they  had  stood.  What  had  become  of 
Montaw  and  his  friends  could  only  be  surmised. 
Ouenwa's  opinion  that  the  enemies  of  Soft  Hand 
were  responsible  for  their  disappearance  was  shared 
by  the  Englishman.  All  agreed  that  immediate 
flight  was  safer  than  a  further  investigation  of 
the  mystery.  So  the  storm-beaten,  wave-weary 
Pelican  turned  seaward  again. 

Two  days  later,  toward  nightfall,  and  after  hav- 
ing sailed  far  up  an  arm  of  the  sea  and  into  the 
mouth  of  a  great  river,  in  fruitless  search  of  some 
belated  fishing-ship,  the  adventurers  were  startled 
and  cheered  by  the  sound  of  a  musket-shot.  It 
came  from  inland,  from  up  the  shadowy  river.  It 
was  muffled  by  distance.  It  clapped  dully  on  their 
eager  ears  like  the  slamming  of  a  wooden  door. 
But  every  lonely  heart  of  them  knew  it  for  the 
voice  of  the  black  powder.  They  drifted  back  a 
little  and  lay  at  anchor  all  night,  just  off  the  mouth 
of  the  river.  With  the  dark  came  the  cruel  frost. 
But  they  crawled  beneath  their  freight  of  furs  and 
slept.  They  were  astir  with  the  first  gray  lights, 


78  Brothers   of  Peril 

and  before  sunrise  were  pulling  cautiously  up  the 
middle  of  the  channel.  White  frost  sparkled  on 
thwart  and  gunwale.  Dark,  mist-wrapped  forests 
of  spruce  and  fir  and  red  pine  came  down  to  the 
water  on  both  sides.  Here  and  there  a  fang  of 
black  rock,  noisy  with  roosting  gulls,  jutted  above 
the  dark  current.  A  jay  screamed  in  the  woods. 
A  belated  snipe  skimmed  across  their  bows.  An 
eagle  eyed  them  from  the  crown  of  an  ancient  pine, 
and  swooped  down  and  away. 

They  must  have  ascended  the  stream  a  matter  of 
two  miles  —  and  hard  pulling  it  was  —  when 
Ouenwa's  sharp  eyes  detected  the  haze  of  wood 
smoke  beyond  a  wooded  bend. 

"  Cooking-fire  there !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Maybe 
get  something  to  eat  ?  Maybe  get  killed  ?  " 

He  spoke  cheerfully,  as  if  neither  prospect  was 
devoid  of  charm. 

"  We'll  risk  it,"  remarked  Kingswell,  quietly. 
"  Put  your  weight  into  the  stroke,  lads  —  and, 
Tom,  keep  your  match  handy." 

At  last  the  bend  was  rounded,  and  the  rowers 
turned  on  the  thwarts  and  peered  over  their  shoul- 
ders, and  Kingsw'ell  uttered  a  low  cry  of  delight. 
Close  ahead  of  them  the  right-hand  bank  lay  level 
and  open,  and  along  its  edge  were  beached  three 
skiffs.  About  twenty  yards  back  stood  a  little  settle- 


An  Unchartered  Plantation          79 

ment  of  log  cabins  enclosed  by  palisades.  From  the 
chimneys  of  the  cabins  plumes  of  comfortable  smoke 
rose  to  the  clearer  azure  above.  In  front  of  this 
civilized  spot,  in  mid-stream,  a  small  high-pooped 
vessel  lay  moored.  Her  masts  and  spars  were  gone. 
She  swung  like  a  dead  body  in  the  brown  current. 

Tom  Bent  swore  softly  and  with  grave  delibera- 
tion. "  Damn  my  eyes,"  he  murmured.  "  Ay,  sir, 
dash  my  old  figger-head,  if  there  don't  lay  a  reg- 
gler,  complete  plantation !  Blast  my  eyes !  " 

"  A  tidy,  Christian  appearin'  place,"  remarked 
Clotworthy,  joyously.  "  An'  real  chimleys,  too ! 
Well,  that  do  look  homely,  for  certain." 

At  that  moment  three  men,  armed  with  muskets, 
ran  from  the  gateway  of  the  enclosure  and  stood 
uncertain  half-way  between  the  palisade  and  the 
river.  Kingswell  hailed  them,  standing  in  the  bluff 
bows  of  the  little  Pelican.  He  stated  the  nation- 
ality, the  names,  and  degrees  of  himself  and  the 
other  of  the  little  company,  and  the  manner  of  their 
misfortune,  even  while  the  boat  was  covering  the 
short  distance  to  the  shore. 

The  settlers  laid  aside  their  weapons,  and  re- 
ceived Master  Kingswell  and  his  men  with  every 
show  of  cordiality  and  good  faith.  They  were 
strapping  fellows,  with  weather-tanned  faces,  broad 
foreheads,  steady  eyes,  and  herculean  shoulders. 


8o  Brothers  of  Peril 

They  doffed  their  skin  caps  to  the  gentleman  adven- 
turer. 

"  Ye  be  our  first  visitors,  sir,  since  we  come 
ashore  here  two  year  and  two  months  ago  come 
to-morrow,"  said  one  of  the  three.  "  Yes,  it  be 
just  two  year  and  two  months  ago,  come  to-morrow, 
that  we  dropped  anchor  off  the  mouth  of  this  river," 
he  added,  turning  to  his  companions.  They  agreed 
silently.  Their  eyes  and  attention  were  fully  ab- 
sorbed by  Master  Kingswell's  imposing,  though 
sadly  stained,  yellow  boots  and  gold-laced  coat. 
Another  settler  joined  the  group,  and  welcomed 
the  voyagers  with  sheepish  grins.  A  fifth,  arrayed 
in  finery  and  a  sword,  approached  and  halted  near 
by. 

"  These,"  said  the  spokesman,  "  be  Donnellys  — 
father  and  son."  With  a  casual  tip  of  the  thumb, 
he  indicated  two  rugged  members  of  the  company. 
He  turned  to  a  handsome  young  giant  beside  him 
and  smote  him  affectionately  on  the  shoulder. 
"  This  here  be  my  boy  John  —  John  Trigget,"  he 
said,  "  an'  that  gentleman  be  Captain  Pierre  d'An- 
tons."  He  bowed,  with  ungracious  deference,  to 
the  dark,  lean,  fashionably  dressed  individual  who 
stood  a  few  paces  away.  "  An'  my  name  be  Will- 
iam Trigget,  master  mariner,"  he  concluded. 

Kingswell  bowed  low  for  the  second  time,  and 


An  Unchartered  Plantation          8 1 

again  shook  hands  with  the  elder  Trigget.  Then 
he  stepped  over  to  D'Antons  and  murmured  a  few 
courteous  words  in  so  low  a  voice  that  his  men 
caught  nothing  of  them.  Each  gentleman  laid  his 
left  hand  lightly  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  Each 
bowed,  laced  hat  in  hand,  until  his  long  hair  fell 
forward  about  his  face.  D'Antons'  locks  were 
raven-black,  and  straight  as  a  horse's  mane.  Young 
Kingswell's  were  bright  as  pale  gold,  and  soft  as 
a  woman's.  Both  were  of  goodly  proportions  and 
gallant  bearing,  though  the  Frenchman  was  the 
taller  and  thinner  of  the  two. 

D'Antons  slipped  his  arm  within  Kingswell's, 
and,  motioning  to  the  others  to  follow,  started 
toward  the  stockade.  William  Trigget  immediately 
strode  forward  and  walked  on  Master  Kingswell's 
other  hand,  as  if  determined  to  assert  his  rights 
as  a  leader  of  the  mixed  company.  Ouenwa  and 
the  seamen  of  the  Pelican,  and  the  Donnellys  and 
young  Trigget,  followed  close  on  the  heels  of  their 
superiors. 

"  And  who  may  ye  be,  lad?  "  inquired  John  Trig- 
get of  Ouenwa,  as  they  crossed  the  level  of  frost- 
seared  grass. 

"  I  am  Ouenwa,"  replied  the  boy,  frankly,  "  and 
Master  Kingswell  is  my  strong  friend  and  pro- 
tector. My  grandsire  was  Soft  Hand,  the  head 


82  Brothers  of  Peril 

chief  of  this  country.  His  enemies  —  barking  foxes 
who  name  themselves  wolves  —  pulled  him  down 
in  the  night-time." 

The  big  settler  nodded,  and  the  others  uttered 
ejaculations  of  pity  and  interest.  The  story  was 
not  news  to  them,  however. 

"  Ay,"  said  John  Trigget,  "  Soft  Hand  were 
pulled  down  in  the  night,  sure  enough.  The  Injuns 
run  fair  crazy,  what  with  murderin'  each  other  an' 
burnin'  each  other's  camps.  I  was  huntin',  two  days 
to  the  north,  when  the  trouble  began.  I  come  home 
without  stoppin'  to  make  any  objections,  an'  the 
skipper  kep'  our  gates  shut  for  a  whole  week.  They 
rebels  was  for  wipin'  out  everybody;  an'  they  cap- 
tured two  French  ships,  an'  did  for  the  crews. 
They  be  moved  away  inlan'  now,  thank  God.  We 
be  safe  till  spring,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"  There  be  worse  folks  nor  they  tormentin'  In- 
juns around  these  here  soundin's,  an'  ye  can  take 
my  word  for  that,"  growled  the  elder  Donnelly,  in 
guarded  tones. 

"Belay  that,"  whispered  John  Trigget.  "The 
devil  can  cook  his  stew  plenty  quick  enough.  Us 
won't  bear  a  hand  till  the  pot  boils  over." 

Captain  d'Antons  glanced  back  at  the  talkers. 
His  black  eyes  gleamed  suspiciously. 


CHAPTER   X. 

GENTRY   AT   FORT   BEATRIX 

INSIDE  the  stockade,  posted  unevenly  around 
three  sides  of  a  foot-worn  square,  were  five  build- 
ings of  rough  logs.  From  a  platform  in  the  south- 
east corner  two  small  cannon  presented  their  muz- 
zles to  the  river.  At  the  back  of  this  platform, 
on  the  southern  side  of  the  square,  stood  the  Don- 
nelly cabin.  It  was  stoutly  built,  and  measured  fif- 
teen paces  across  the  front.  Against  the  western 
palisade  the  Trigget  cabin  and  Captain  d'Antons' 
habitation  faced  the  square.  On  the  north  side 
stood  a  fourth  dwelling  and  a  small  storehouse. 
In  the  centre  of  the  yard  bubbled  a  spring  of  clear 
water  under  a  rustic  shed.  A  tiny  brook  sparkled 
away  from  it,  under  the  stockade  and  down  to  the 
river.  The  well  was  flanked  on  both  sides  by  a 
couple  of  slim  birches,  now  leafless  under  the  white 
November  sun. 

The  visitors  were  led  to  the  Triggets'  cabin,  and 
Skipper  Trigget's  wife  and  daughter  —  both  big, 

83 


84  Brothers  of  Peril 

comely  women  —  fed  them  with  the  best  in  the  lit- 
tle plantation.  After  breakfast,  Kingswell  and 
Ouenwa  were  taken  to  D^Antons'  quarters.  The 
Frenchman  was  the  spirit  of  hospitality,  and  took 
blankets  and  sheets  from  his  own  bed  to  dress  their 
couches.  Also  he  produced  a  flask  of  priceless 
brandy,  from  which  he  and  Kingswell  pledged  a 
couple  of  glasses  to  the  Goddess  of  Chance.  The 
toast  was  D'Antons'  suggestion. 

Presently  D'Antons  excused  himself,  saying  that 
he  had  a  matter  of  business  to  attend  to,  and  left 
his  guests  to  their  own  devices.  The  house  was 
divided  into  two  apartments  by  curtains  of  caribou 
hides,  which  were  hung  from  one  of  the  low  cross- 
beams of  the  ceiling.  At  the  end  of  each  room 
a  fire  burned  on  a  roughly  built  hearth.  Two  small 
windows  of  clouded  glass  partially  lit  the  sombre 
interior.  Books  in  English,  French,  and  Spanish, 
a  packet  of  papers,  ink  and  quills,  and  a  neatly  ex- 
ecuted drawing  of  a  pinnace  under  sail  lay  on  a 
table  near  one  of  the  windows.  Antlers  of  stags, 
decorated  quivers  and  bows,  painted  hides,  and 
glossy  skins  adorned  the  rough  walls.  Above  the 
hearth  in  the  room  in  which  Kingswell  and  his 
young  companion  sat,  hung  a  musket  with  a  sil- 
ver inlaid  stock,  a  carved  powder-horn,  and  sev- 
eral knives  and  daggers  in  beaded  sheaths.  On 


Gentry  at  Fort  Beatrix  85 

the  floor  lay  two  great,  pink-lipped  West  Indian 
shells.  A  steel  head-piece,  a  breastplate  of  the 
same  sure  metal,  and  a  heavy  sword  with  a  basket 
hilt  hung  above  D'Antons'  bed. 

Kingswell  looked  over  the  books  on  the  table. 
He  found  that  one  of  them  was  a  manual  of  arms, 
written  in  the  Spanish  language;  another  a  work 
of  navigation,  by  a  Frenchman;  a  third  a  weighty 
thesis  on  the  science  and  practice  of  surgery;  and 
the  fourth  was  a  volume  as  well-loved  as  familiar, 
—  Master  William  Shakespeare's  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet."  He  took  up  this  last,  and,  seating  himself 
with  his  shoulder  to  the  window,  was  soon  far 
away  from  the  failures  and  daily  perils  of  the  wil- 
derness. The  greedy,  hard-bitted  materialist  Pres- 
ent, with  its  quests  of  "  fish,"  and  fur,  and  gold, 
was  replaced  by  the  magic  All-Time  of  the  play- 
wright poet. 

Ouenwa  wandered  about  the  room,  prying  into 
every  nook  and  corner,  and  examining  the  shells, 
the  arms,  and  the  decorations.  He  even  knelt  on 
the  hearthstone,  and,  at  the  risk  of  setting  fire 
to  his  hair,  tried  to  solve  the  mystery  of  the  chim- 
ney —  for  a  fire  indoor  unaccompanied  by  a  lodge- 
ful  of  smoke  was  a  new  thing  in  his  experience. 
He  looked  frequently  at  Kingswell,  in  the  hope  of 
finding  him  open  to  questions,  but  was  always  dis- 


86  Brothers  of  Peril 

appointed.  At  last  the  thought  occurred  to  him 
that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  get  hold  of  the 
great  sword  above  the  bed,  and  make  cut,  lunge, 
and  parry  with  it  as  Kingswell  had  shown  him  how 
to  do  on  several  occasions.  So  he  climbed  on  to 
the  bed,  and,  in  trying  to  clear  the  sword  from 
its  peg,  knocked  the  steel  cap  ringing  to  the  floor. 
Kingswell  sprang  from  his  stool,  with  his  arm 
across  his  body  and  his  hand  on  his  sword-hilt, 
and  Master  Shakespeare's  immortal  drama  sprawled 
at  his  feet.  "Oh,  that's  all,  is  it?"  he  exclaimed, 
in  tones  of  relief.  "  But  you  must  not  handle  other 
people's  goods,  lad,"  he  added,  kindly,  "  especially 
a  gentleman's  arms  and  armour." 

Ouenwa  flushed  and  apologized,  and  was  about 
to  step  from  D'Antons'  couch  to  recover  the  head- 
piece, when  D'Antons  himself  entered  the  cabin. 
Kingswell  turned  to  him  and  explained  the  acci- 
dent. 

"  My  young  friend  is  very  sorry,"  he  said,  "  and 
would  beg  your  pardon  if  he  felt  less  embarrassed. 
However,  captain,  I  beg  it  for  him.  I  was  so 
intent  on  the  affairs  of  Romeo  that  I  was  not  watch- 
ing him.  He  is  naturally  of  an  investigating  turn 
of  mind." 

The  Frenchman  waved  a  slim  hand  and  flashed 
his  white  teeth.  "  It  is  nothing,  nothing,"  he  cried. 


Gentry  at  Fort  Beatrix  87 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  mention  it  again,  or  give  it 
another  thought.  The  old  pot  has  sustained  many 
a  shrewder  whack  than  a  tumble  on  the  floor.  Ah, 
it  has  turned  blades  of  Damascus  before  now !  But 
enough  of  this  triviality!  I  have  returned  to  re- 
quest you  to  come  with  me  to  our  governor. 
Neither  Trigget  nor  I  have  mentioned  him  to  you, 
as  he  is  not  desirous  of  meeting  strangers.  But 
he  will  make  his  own  apologies,  Master  Kingswell." 

He  stood  aside,  for  Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  to 
pass  out  before  him.  Kingswell  went  first.  As 
Ouenwa  crossed  the  threshold,  D'Antons  nipped 
him  sharply  by  the  arm,  and  hissed,  "  Dog !  Cur !  " 
in  a  voice  so  low,  so  sinister,  that  the  boy  gasped. 
But  in  a  breath  the  Frenchman  was  his  affable 
self  again,  and  the  Beothic,  with  the  invectives  still 
burning  his  ears,  almost  believed  that  he  had  been 
the  victim  of  some  evil  magic.  Kingswell  caught 
nothing  of  the  incident. 

Ouenwa  was  requested  to  wait  outside.  Master 
Kingswell  was  ushered  into  the  governor's  cabin, 
and  D'Antons  closed  the  door  behind  him.  The 
young  Englishman  found  himself  in  a  dimly  lit 
apartment  very  similar  to  that  which  he  had  just 
left.  He  hesitated,  a  step  inside  the  threshold,  and 
narrowed  his  lids  in  an  effort  to  see  more  clearly. 
The  Frenchman  paused  at  his  elbow.  Two  figures 


88  Brothers   of  Peril 

advanced  from  the  farther  side  of  the  room.  He 
ventured  another  step,  and  bowed  with  all  the  grace 
at  his  command,  for  one  of  the  figures  was  that 
of  a  young  woman  in  flashing  raiment.  The  other 
was  of  a  slim,  foppishly  dressed  man  of  a  little 
past  middle  age,  with  a  worn  face  that  somehow 
retained  its  air  of  youthfulness  despite  its  haggard 
lines  and  faded  skin. 

"  Welcome  to  our  humble  retreat,  Master  Kings- 
well,"  said  the  gentleman,  extending  his  hand  and 
laughing  softly.  "  This  is  indeed  an  unlooked-for 
pleasure.  We  last  met,  I  believe,  at  Randon  Hall 
—  or  was  it  at  Beverly  ?  " 

"Sir  Ralph  Westleigh!"  exclaimed  Kingswell, 
in  a  voice  of  ill-concealed  consternation  and  sur- 
prise. For  a  moment  he  stood  in  an  attitude  of 
half-recoil.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  staring  at 
the  other  with  wide  eyes.  Then  he  caught  the 
waiting  hand  in  a  firm  grip. 

"  Thank  you,  Sir  Ralph.  Yes,  it  was  at  Beverly 
that  we  last  met,"  he  said,  evenly.  He  turned  to 
the  girl,  who  stood  beside  her  father  with  downcast 
eyes  and  flaming  cheeks  and  throat.  The  baronet 
hastened  to  make  her  known  to  the  visitor. 

"  My  daughter  Beatrix,"  he  said.  "  A  good  girl, 
who  willingly  and  cheerfully  shares  her  worthless 
father's  exile." 


Gentry  at  Fort  Beatrix  89 

Mistress  Westleigh  extended  a  firm  and  shapely 
hand,  and  Kingswell,  bending  low  above  it,  intox- 
icated by  the  sudden  presence  of  beauty  and  a  flood 
of  homesick  memories,  pressed  his  lips  to  the  slim 
fingers  with  a  warmth  that  startled  the  lady  and 
brought  a  flash  of  anger  to  D'Antons'  eyes.  He 
recovered  himself  in  an  instant.  "  To  see  you  in 
this  wilderness  —  amid  these  bleak  surroundings !  " 
he  exclaimed,  scarcely  above  a  whisper.  "  I  cannot 
realize  it,  Mistress  Beatrix!  And  once  we  played 
at  racquets  together  in  the  court  at  Beverly." 

The  girl  smiled  at  him,  with  a  gleam  of  under- 
standing in  her  dark,  parti-coloured  eyes. 

"  I  remember,"  she  said.  "  You  have  not 
changed  greatly,  save  in  size."  And  at  that  she 
laughed,  with  a  note  of  embarrassment. 

"  But  you  have,"  replied  Kingswell.  "  You  were 
not  very  beautiful  as  a  little  girl.  To  me  you  looked 
much  the  same  as  my  own  sisters." 

For  a  second,  or  less,  the  maiden's  eyes  met  his 
with  merriment  and  questioning  in  their  depths. 
Then  they  were  lowered.  Sir  Ralph  moved  un- 
easily. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  said,  "  we  must  not  stand 
here  all  day,  like  geese  on  a  village  green.  There 
are  seats  by  the  fire."  He  led  the  way.  "  Captain, 
if  you  are  not  busy  I  hope  you'll  stay  and  hear  some 


90  Brothers  of  Peril 

of  Master  Kingswell's  adventures,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  D'Antons. 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  the  captain. 

"  One  moment,  sir,"  said  Kingswell  to  Sir  Ralph 
Westleigh.  "  I  have  a  young  friend  —  a  sort  of 
ward  —  whom  I  left  outside.  I'll  tell  him  to  run 
over  to  the  men  and  amuse  himself  with  them." 

As  he  opened  the  door  and  spoke  a  few  kind 
w'ords  to  Ouenwa,  there  was  a  sneer  on  D'Antons' 
lips  that  did  not  escape  Mistress  Beatrix  Westleigh. 
It  irritated  her  beyond  measure,  and  she  had  all 
she  could  do  to  restrain  herself  from  slapping  him 
—  for  hot  blood  and  a  fighting  spirit  dwelt  in  that 
fair  body.  She  wondered  how  she  had  once  con- 
sidered him  attractive.  She  blushed  crimson  at 
the  thought. 

Kingswell  returned  and  seated  himself  on  a  stool 
between  the  governor  of  the  little  colony  and  the 
maiden.  First  of  all,  he  told  them  who  Ouenwa 
was,  and  of  the  time  the  lad  saved  him  from  in- 
jury by  flooring  old  Trowley  with  his  canoe  paddle. 
Then  he  briefly  sketched  the  voyage  of  the  Pelican, 
and  told  something  of  his  interests  in  the  fishing 
fleet  and  in  the  new  land. 

"  And  you  found  no  indications  of  gold  ?  "  que- 
ried D'Antons. 

"  None,"  replied  the  voyager,  "  but  some  splen- 


Gentry  at  Fort  Beatrix  91 

did  copper  ore  in  great  quantities,  and  one  mine  of 
'fool's  gold.'" 

The  baronet  nodded,  with  one  of  his  wan  smiles. 
"  There  are  other  kinds  of  fool's  gold  than  these  iron 
pyrites,  I  believe,"  he  said,  "  and  one  finds  it  nearer 
home  than  in  this  God-forsaken  —  ah  —  in  this 
wild  country." 

The  others  understood  the  reference,  and  even 
the  polished  Frenchman  looked  into  the  fire  and  had 
nothing  to  say.  Kingswell  studied  the  water- 
bleached  toes  of  his  boots,  and  Beatrix  glanced 
piteously  at  her  father.  For  Sir  Ralph  Westleigh's 
life  had  known  much  of  fool's  gold,  and  much  of 
many  another  folly,  and  something  of  that  to  which 
his  acquaintances  in  Somerset  —  and,  for  that  mat- 
ter, in  all  England  —  gave  a  stronger  and  less  leni- 
ent name.  The  baronet  had  lived  hard ;  but  his  story 
comes  later. 

"  I  knew  nothing  of  this  plantation  of  yours," 
said  Kingswell,  presently.  "  I  did  not  know,  even, 
that  you  were  interested  in  colonization  —  and  yet 
you  have  been  here  a  matter  of  two  years,  so  Trig- 
get  tells  me." 

"  Yes,  and  likely  to  die  here  —  unless  I  am  un- 
earthed," replied  Sir  Ralph,  bitterly,  and  with  a 
meaning  glance  at  Kingswell.  "  I  put  entire  faith 
in  my  friends,"  he  added.  "  And  they  are  all  in 


92  Brothers  of  Peril 

this  little  fort  on  Gray  Goose  River.  My  undoing 
lies  in  their  hands." 

"  Sir  Ralph,"  replied  Kingswell,  uneasily  but 
stoutly,  "  I  hope  your  trust  has  been  extended  to 
me,  —  yes,  and  to  my  men.  Your  wishes  in  any 
matter  of  —  of  silence  or  the  like  —  are  our  orders. 
My  fellows  are  true  as  steel.  My  friends  are  theirs. 
The  young  Beothic  would  risk  his  life  for  you  at 
a  word  from  me." 

The  baronet  was  visibly  affected  by  this  speech. 
He  laid  a  hand  on  the  young  man's  knee  and  peered 
into  his  face. 

"Then  you  are  a  friend  —  out  and  out?"  he 
inquired. 

"  To  the  death,"  said  the  other,  huskily. 

"  And  you  have  heard  ?  Of  course  you  have 
heard!" 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  say  *  God  bless  you '  to  any 
man,"  said  Sir  Ralph,  "  but  it's  good  of  you.  I 
feel  your  kindness  more  deeply  than  I  can  say.  I 
have  forgotten  my  old  trick  of  making  pretty 
speeches." 

Kingswell  blushed  uncomfortably  and  wished 
that  D'Antons,  with  his  polite,  superior,  inscrutable 
smile,  was  a  thousand  miles  out  of  sight  of  his 
embarrassment.  The  girl  leaned  toward  him.  But 


Gentry  at  Fort  Beatrix  93 

she  did  not  look  at  him.  "  God  bless  you  —  my 
fellow  countryman,"  she  whispered,  in  a  voice  so 
low  that  he  alone  caught  the  words.  He  had  no 
answer  to  make  to  that  unexpected  reward.  For 
a  little  they  maintained  a  painful  silence.  It  was 
broken  by  the  Frenchman. 

"  You  understand,  Master  Kingswtell,  that,  for 
certain  reasons,  it  is  advisable  that  the  place  of 
Sir  Ralph  Westleigh's  retreat  be  kept  from  the 
knowledge  of  every  one  save  ourselves,"  he  said, 
slowly  and  easily. 

"  I  understand,"  replied  Kings  well,  shortly.  Cap- 
tain d'Antons  jarred  on  him,  despite  all  his  fault- 
less and  affable  manners. 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE   SETTING -IN    OF   WINTER 

ABOUT  mid-afternoon  of  the  day  of  Kingswell's 
advent  into  the  settlement  on  Gray  Goose  River 
—  Fort  Beatrix  it  \Vas  called  —  the  sky  clouded, 
the  voice  of  the  river  thinned  and  saddened,  and 
snow  began  to  fall.  By  Trigget's  advice  —  and 
Trigget  seemed  to  be  the  working  head  of  the  plan- 
tation —  the  pelts  and  gear  of  the  Pelican  were  re- 
moved to  the  storehouse. 

"  Ye  must  winter  in  Newfoundland,  sir,  how- 
ever the  idea  affects  your  plans,  for  no  more  ships 
will  be  sailing  home  this  season ;  and  ye  couldn't 
make  it  in  your  bully,"  said  the  hospitable  skipper. 

"  We  might  work  'round  to  St.  John's,"  replied 
Kingswell. 

Trigget  shook  his  head.  "  This  be  the  safer 
place  o'  the  two,"  he  answered,  "  and  your  Honour's 
company  here  will  help  keep  Sir  Ralph  out  o'  his 
black  moods.  He  wants  ye  to  stay,  I  know. 
There'll  be  work  and  to  spare  for  your  men,  what 

94 


The  Setting-in  of  Winter  95 

with  cuttin'  fuel,  and  huntin'  game,  and  boat- 
buildin'." 

So  Kingswell  decided  that,  if  this  should  prove 
the  real  setting-in  of  winter,  and  if  no  objections 
were  raised  by  any  of  the  pioneers,  he  would  share 
the  colony's  fortunes  until  the  following  spring. 
D'Antons  expressed  himself  as  charmed  with  the 
decision ;  but,  for  all  that,  Kingswell  saw,  by  deeper 
and  finer  signs  than  most  people  would  credit  him 
with  the  ability  to  read,  that  his  presence  was  really 
far  from  agreeable  to  the  French  adventurer. 

When  night  closed  about  the  little  settlement, 
the  snow  was  still  falling,  and  ground  and  roofs 
shone  with  bleak  radiance  through  the  veil  of  dark- 
ness. The  flakes  of  the  storm  were  small  and  dry, 
and  unstirred  by  any  wind.  They  wove  a  curtain 
of  silence  over  the  unprotesting  wilderness. 

Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  supped  with  the  West- 
leighs.  But  before  the  meal,  and  before  Mistress 
Beatrix  appeared  from  her  little  chamber,  the  two 
gentlemen  had  an  hour  of  private  conversation. 

"This  Captain  d'Antons  —  what  of  him?"  in- 
quired Kingswell. 

"  He  is  none  of  our  choosing,"  replied  the  bar- 
onet. "  Several  years  ago,  before  I  had  quite  given 
up  the  old  life  and  the  old  show,  I  met  him  in 
London.  He  was  reported  rich.  He  had  sailed 


96  Brothers  of  Peril 

many  voyages  to  the  West  Indies,  and  talked  of 
lands  granted  to  him  in  New  France.  I  had  sold 
Beverly,  and  Beatrix  was  with  me  in  town.  She 
was  little  more  than  a  child,  but  her  looks  attracted 
a  deal  of  attention.  She  had  nothing  else,  as  all 
the  town  knew,  with  her  father  a  ruined  gamester, 
and  her  dead  mother's  property  gone,  with  Randon 
Hall  and  Beverly !  Dear  God,  but  here  was  a  dower 
for  a  beautiful  lass!  Well,  the  poets  made  a  song 
or  two,  and  three  old  men  were  for  paying  titles 
and  places  for  her  little  hand  —  and  then  the  end 
came.  We  won  back  to  Somerset,  spur  and  whip, 
lashed  along  by  fear.  We  hid  about,  in  this  cot- 
tage and  that,  while  my  trusted  friend  Trigget  pro- 
visioned his  little  craft  and  got  together  all  the 
folk  whom  you  see  here,  save  D^Antons.  After  a 
rough  and  tiring  voyage  of  three  weeks'  duration, 
and  just  when  we  were  looking  out  for  land,  we 
were  met  by  a  French  frigate,  and  forced  to  haul 
our  wind.  A  boat-load  of  armed  men  left  the 
pirate  —  yes,  that's  what  she  was,  a  damn  pirate 
—  and  there  was  Captain  d'Antons  seated  in  the 
stern-sheets  of  her,  beside  the  mate.  He  had  not 
been  as  long  at  sea  as  we  had,  and  he  knew  all 
about  my  trouble,  curse  him!  He  left  the  frigate, 
which  he  said  was  bound  on  a  peaceful  voyage  of 
discovery  to  the  West  Indies,  and  joined  our  ex- 


The  Setting-in  of  Winter  97 

pedition.  I  could  not  forbid  it.  I  was  at  his  mercy, 
with  his  cutthroats  alongside  and  the  gallows  at 
the  back  of  it.  He  has  hung  to  us  ever  since;  and 
he  has  acted  civil  enough,  damn  him.  If  he'd  show 
his  hoof  now  and  again,  I'd  like  it  better  —  for 
then  we  would  all  be  on  our  guard." 

"  But  why  does  he  stay  ?  Why  does  he  live  in 
this  place  when  he  might  be  reaping  the  harvests 
common  to  such  husbandmen  ?  "  inquired  Kings- 
well.  "Has  he  a  stake  in  the  colony?" 

The  baronet  gazed  reflectively  at  the  young  man. 
"  The  fellow  has  kept  my  secret,  and  shared  our 
rough  lot  and  dreary  exile,  and  even  expended  some 
money  on  provisions,"  he  replied,  deliberately, 
"  for  no  other  reason  than  that  he  is  in  love  with 
my  daughter." 

"  He !  A  buccaneer !  "  exclaimed  Kingswell, 
warmly. 

"  Even  so,"  answered  the  baronet.  "  There,  on 
the  high  seas,  when  he  had  us  all  in  his  clutch, 
when  he  might  have  seized  by  force  that  for  which 
he  now  sues,  he  accepted  my  word  of  honour  — 
mark  you,  he  accepted  what  I  had  scarce  the  face 
to  offer  —  that  I  would  not  withstand  his  suit,  nor 
allow  my  men  to  do  him  any  treasonable  hurt  so 
long  as  he  kept  my  hiding-place  secret  and  behaved 
like  a  gentleman." 


98  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  And  Mistress  Beatrix?  "  asked  the  young  man, 
softly. 

"  Ah,  who  can  say?  "  responded  the  broken  bar- 
onet. "  At  one  time  I  feared  that  he  was  appear- 
ing as  a  hero  to  her.  But  I  do  not  know.  He 
played  his  game  cleverly  at  first,  but  now  he  is  los- 
ing patience.  I  would  to  God  that  he  would  lose 
it  altogether.  Then  the  compact  would  be  broken. 
But  no,  he  is  cautious.  He  knows  that,  at  a  word 
from  the  girl,  my  sword  would  be  out.  Then  things 
would  go  hard  with  him,  even  though  he  should 
kill  me,  for  my  men  hate  him." 

"  Why  not  pick  a  quarrel  with  him  ?  "  asked  the 
headstrong  Kingswell. 

"  You  do  not  understand  —  you  cannot  under- 
stand —  how  delicate  a  thing  to  keep  is  the  word 
of  honour  of  a  man  who  is  branded  as  being  with- 
out honour,"  replied  the  other,  sadly. 

"  And  should  Mistress  Beatrix  flout  him,"  said 
Kingswell,  "  he  would  find  his  revenge  in  reporting 
your  whereabouts  to  the  garrison  at  St.  John's." 

"  He  is  well  watched,"  said  Sir  Ralph,  "  and  this 
is  not  an  easy  place  to  escape  from,  even  in  summer. 
We  are  hidden,  up  here,  and  not  so  much  as  a  fish- 
ing-ship has  sighted  us  in  the  two  years." 

"  I'll  wager  that  he'd  find  a  way  past  your  vigi- 
lance if  he  set  his  mind  to  it,"  retorted  Kingswell. 


The  Setting-in  of  Winter  99 

"  Gad,  but  it  maddens  me  to  think  of  being  billeted 
under  the  roof  of  such  an  aspiring  rogue!  Rip 
me,  but  it's  a  monstrous  sin  that  a  lady  should  be 
plagued,  and  a  whole  body  of  Englishmen  menaced, 
by  a  buccaneering  adventurer." 

"  My  boy,"  replied  Sir  Ralph,  wearily,  "  you 
must  curb  your  indignation,  even  as  the  rest  of 
us  do.  Discretion  is  the  card  to  play  just  now. 
I  have  been  holding  the  game  with  it  for  over  two 
years.  Who  knows  but  that  Time  may  shuffle  the 
pack  before  long?" 

Just  then  Mistress  Beatrix  joined  them.  She 
wore  one  of  the  gay  gowns  —  in  truth  somewhat 
enlarged  and  remodelled  —  by  which  her  girlish 
beauty  had  been  abetted  and  set  off  in  England. 
There  seemed  a  brightness  and  shimmer  all  about 
her.  The  coils  of  her  dark  hair  were  bright.  The 
changing  eyes  were  bright.  The  lips,  the  round 
neck  and  dainty  throat,  the  buckled  shoes,  and  even 
the  material  of  bodice  and  skirt  were  radiant  in 
the  gloom  and  firelight  of  that  rough  chamber. 
To  all  appearances,  her  mood  was  as  bright  as  her 
beauty.  Sir  Ralph  watched  her  with  adoring  eyes, 
realizing  her  bravery.  Kingswell  joined  in  her  gay 
chatter,  and  found  it  easy  to  be  merry.  Ouenwa, 
silent  on  the  corner  of  the  bench  by  the  hearth, 


ioo  Brothers  of  Peril 

gazed  at  this  vision  of  loveliness  with  wide  eyes. 
He  could  realize,  without  effort,  that  Sir  Ralph 
and  D'Antons  and  even  his  glorious  Kingswell  were 
men,  even  as  Tom  Bent,  and  the  Triggets,  and 
Black  Feather  were,  but  that  Mistress  Beatrix  was 
a  woman  —  a  woman,  as  were  William  Trigget's 
wife  and  daughter,  and  Black  Feather's  squaw  — 
no,  he  could  not  believe  it !  He  was  even  surprised 
to  note  a  resemblance  to  other  females  in  the  num- 
ber of  her  hands  and  feet.  She  had,  most  assuredly, 
two  hands  and  two  feet.  Also  she  had  one  head. 
But  how  different  in  quality,  though  similar  in 
number,  were  the  members  of  this  flashing  young 
divinity. 

"  I  left  Montaw's  lodge  to  behold  the  wonders 
of  the  world,"  mused  the  dazzled  child  of  the  wil- 
derness, "  and  already,  without  crossing  the  great 
salt  water,  I  have  found  the  surpassing  wonder. 
Can  it  be  that  any  more  such  beings  exist?  Has 
even  Master  Kingswell  ever  before  looked  upon 
such  beauty  and  such  raiment  ?  " 

His  spellbound  gaze  was  met  by  the  eyes  of  the 
enchantress.  To  his  amazement,  the  lady  moved 
from  her  father's  side  and  seated  herself  on  the 
bench. 

"  You  are  so  quiet,"  she  said,  "  that  I  did  not 


The  Setting-in  of  Winter         101 

notice  you  before.  So  you  are  Master  Kingswell's 
ward?" 

Her  voice  was  very  kind  and  cheerful,  and  her 
silks  brushed  the  lad's  hand.  He  looked  at  the 
finery  uneasily,  but  did  not  answer  her  question. 

"  You  told  us  he  knew  English,"  she  said  to 
Kingswell. 

"  He  does,"  replied  the  young  man.  Then,  to 
the  boy :  "  Ouenwa,  Mistress  Westleigh  wants  to 
know  if  you  are  my  friend." 

"Yes,"  said  the  lad.     "Good  friend." 

"  And  my  friend,  too  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ouenwa.  "  You  look  so  —  so 
—  like  he  called  the  sky  one  morning."  He  pointed 
at  Master  Kingswell. 

"What  was  that?"  she  queried. 

"  What  morning  ?  "  asked  Kingswell,  leaning  for- 
ward and  smiling. 

"  Five  mornings  ago,  chief,"  replied  Ouenwa. 

Kingswell  laughed.  "  You  are  right,  lad,"  he 
said. 

"  But  tell  me  what  you  called  the  sky,  sir.  Really, 
this  is  very  provoking.  No  doubt  the  boy  thinks 
I  look  a  fright,"  said  Miss  Westleigh. 

"  Beatrix,"  interrupted  Sir  Ralph,  "  surely  I  see 
Kate  with  the  candles." 

The  girl  could  not  deny  it,  for  the  table  was 


IO2  Brothers   of  Peril 

spread  in  the  same  room,  —  a  rough,  square  table 
with  a  damask  cloth,  and  laid  out  with  a  fair  show 
of  silver,  decanters,  and  a  great  venison  pasty, 
which  had  been  cooked  in  the  Triggets'  kitchen 
across  the  yard. 

The  meal  was  a  delightful  one  to  Kingswell. 
He  had  not  eaten  off  china  dishes  for  many  months. 
The  food,  though  plain,  w>as  well  cooked  and  well 
served.  The  wines  were  as  nectar  to  his  eager 
palate.  And  over  it  all  was  the  magic  of  Mistress 
Westleigh's  presence  —  potent  magic  enough  to  a 
young  gentleman  who  had  almost  forgotten  the 
looks  and  ways  of  the  women  of  his  own  kind. 
Ouenwa  sat  as  one  in  a  dream,  fairly  stupefied  by 
the  gleam  of  silver  and  linen  under  the  soft  light 
of  the  candles.  He  ate  painfully  and  slowly,  imi- 
tating Kingswell.  He  looked  often  at  the  vivacious 
hostess.  Suddenly  he  exclaimed :  "  I  remember. 
Yes,  it  was  lovely  beautiful,  what  the  chief  said !  " 
Kingswell  laughed  delightedly,  and  the  baronet 
joined,  with  reserve,  in  the  mirth.  The  girl  looked 
puzzled  for  a  moment,  —  then  confused,  —  then, 
with  a  little,  indescribable  cry  of  merriment,  she 
patted  Ouenwa's  shoulder. 

"  Charming  lad !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  have  not  re- 
ceived so  pretty  a  compliment  for,  oh,  ever  so  long." 


The  Setting-in  of  Winter          103 

She  looked  across  the  table  at  Kingswell,  feeling 
his  gaze  upon  her.  His  eyes  were  very  grave,  and 
darkened  with  thought,  though  his  lips  were  still 
smiling. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

MEDITATION    AND  ACTION 

FOR  hours  after  retiring  Kingswell  lay  awake, 
reviewing,  in  his  restless  brain,  the  incidents  of  that 
crowded  day.  His  couch  was  luxurious,  compared 
to  the  resting-places  he  had  known  since  leaving 
the  Heart  of  the  West;  but,  for  all  that,  sleep 
evaded  him.  From  the  other  side  of  the  hearth 
Ouenwa's  deep  and  regular  breathing  reached  his 
alert  ears.  He  saw  the  yellow  light  blink  to  dark- 
ness above  the  curtain  of  skins,  when  D'Antons 
extinguished  his  candle  in  the  other  apartment. 
The  red  firelight  rose  and  fell,  dwindled  and 
flooded  high.  The  core  of  it  contracted  and  ex- 
panded, and  a  straight  log  across  the  middle  of 
the  glow  was  like  a  heavy  eyelid.  It  was  like  some- 
thing alive  —  like  something  stirring  between  sleep- 
ing and  waking,  desiring  sleep,  yet  afraid  to  for- 
sake a  vigil.  To  the  restless  explorer  beside  the 
hearth  it  suggested  a  drowsy  servitor  nodding  and 

starting  in  a  deserted  hall.     "  What  is  it  waiting 

104 


Meditation  and  Action  105 

for?"  he  wondered,  and  smiled  at  the  conceit. 
"  What  does  it  fear  ?  Mayhap  the  master  and  mis- 
tress are  late  at  a  rout,  and  are  people  without  con- 
sideration for  the  feelings  of  their  servants." 

From  such  harmless  imagery  his  mind  slipped 
to  the  less  pleasant  subject  of  Sir  Ralph  Westleigh. 
He  recalled  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  of  the  days 
of  the  baronet's  glory  —  of  the  great  places  near 
Bristol,  with  their  stables  that  were  the  envy  of 
dukes,  and  their  routs  that  lured  people  wieary  and 
dangerous  journeys  —  of  the  famous  Lady  West- 
leigh and  her  jewels  —  of  Sir  Ralph's  kindliness 
to  great  and  small  alike.  His  own  father,  the  mer- 
chant-knight of  Bristol,  had  held  the  baronet  in 
high  esteem.  Bernard  himself,  when  a  child,  and 
later  when  a  well-grown  lad,  had  experienced  the 
hospitality  of  Randon  Hall  and  Beverly.  At  the 
time  of  his  last  visit  to  Beverly,  rumour  was  busy 
with  the  baronet's  affairs.  During  Lady  West- 
leigh's  life,  all  had  gone  well,  apparently.  After 
her  death,  Sir  Ralph  spent  less  of  his  time  at  home, 
and  more  of  it  in  distant  London,  and  even  in  Paris. 
Stories  went  abroad  of  his  heavy  gaming  and  his 
ruinous  bad  luck.  People  said  the  love  of  the  dice 
and  the  cards  had  settled  in  the  man  like  a  disease, 
working  on  him  physically  to  such  an  extent  that 
he  looked  a  different  person  when  the  heat  of  the 


io6  Brothers   of  Peril 

play  was  on  him.  Also  it  played  the  devil  with 
him  morally  —  and  perhaps  mentally.  So  things 
took  the  turn  and  started  down-hill.  Then  the 
run  was  short  and  mad,  despite  warnings  of  friends, 
threats  of  relatives,  and  the  baronet's  own  numer- 
ous clever  checks  and  parries  to  avoid  disaster. 
There  was  a  season  of  hope  after  the  sale  of  Ran- 
don.  But  the  lurid  clouds  gathered  again.  Then 
Beverly  was  impoverished  to  the  last  oak  and  the 
last  horse  in  the  stud.  The  baronet  took  his  daugh- 
ter to  town,  and,  by  a  turn  of  luck,  put  in  a  few 
merry  months.  Then  a  certain  Scotch  viscount 
caught  him  playing  as  no  gentleman,  no  matter  how 
dissolute,  is  supposed  to  play.  The  Scotchman 
made  a  clamour,  and  was  killed  for  his  trouble. 
That  was  the  last  known  of  Sir  Ralph  Westleigh 
and  his  daughter  by  any  one  of  the  outside  world 
until  the  Pelican  landed  her  voyagers  before  the 
stockade  of  Fort  Beatrix  on  Gray  Goose  River. 

All  these  matters  employed  Kingswell's  thoughts 
as  he  lay  awake  in  Captain  d'Antons'  cabin  and 
watched  the  fire  on  the  rough  hearth  fall  lower  and 
lower.  Pity  for  the  young  girl,  who  had  been  born 
and  bred  to  such  a  different  heritage,  pained  and 
fretted  him  more  keenly  than  a  personal  loss.  The 
discomfort  of  it  was  almost  as  if  his  conscience 
were  accusing  him  of  disloyalty  to  a  friend,  though 


Meditation  and  Action  107 

that  was  absurd,  as  neither  he  nor  his  had  helped 
Westleigh  in  his  descent',  nor  cried  out  against  him 
when  he  met  disaster  at  the  bottom.  But  he  had 
never,  during  those  two  years  after  their  disappear- 
ance, given  them  more  than  a  passing  thought  — 
and  they  had  been  friends  and  neighbours.  He 
had  experienced  no  pity  for  the  young  and  beauti- 
ful girl  with  whom  he  had  played  in  the  racquet 
court  at  Beverly.  Like  the  great  world  of  which 
he  was  so  insignificant  a  part,  he  had  forgotten. 
Two  lives,  more  or  less,  were  of  no  consequence 
in  such  stirring  times.  He  groaned,  as  if  the  reali- 
zation of  a  great  sin  had  come  to  him.  Then,  to 
the  anger  against  himself  was  added  anger  against 
the  world  that  had  dragged  Sir  Ralph  into  this 
oblivion  of  dishonour,  and  the  innocent  girl  into 
exile.  What  had  she  done  to  be  driven  beyond 
the  bounds  of  civilization,  her  safety  dependent  on 
the  whims  of  a  French  buccaneer?  Ah,  there. was 
the  raw  spot,  sure  enough!  In  the  little  space  of 
time  between  two  risings  of  the  sun,  Kingswell 
had  met  a  man  and  marked  him  for  an  enemy. 
Nursing  a  bitter,  though  somewhat  muddled,  re- 
sentment, he  at  last  fell  asleep,  guarded  from  storm 
and  frost  by  the  roof  of  the  very  man  who  had 
inspired  his  anger. 

For  the  next  few  days  matters  went  smoothly 


Io8  Brothers   of  Peril 

at  Fort  Beatrix.  It  was  evident  to  even  the  least 
experienced  0f  the  settlers  that  the  winter  had  come 
to  stay.  The  snow  lay  deep  and  dry  over  the 
frozen  earth.  The  river  was  already  hidden  under 
a  skin  of  gleaming  ice,  made  opaque  by  the  snow 
that  had  mingled  with  the  water  while  it  was  freez- 
ing. The  little  settlement  took  up  the  routine  of 
the  dreary  months.  Axes  were  sharpened  at  the 
great  stone  in  the  well-house.  The  men  donned 
moccasins  of  deerskin.  They  tied  ingenious  rac- 
quets, or  snow-shoes,  to  their  feet  and  tramped 
into  the  sombre  forests.  All  day  the  thud,  thud 
of  the  axes  jarred  across  the  air,  interrupted  ever 
and  anon  by  the  rending,  splitting  lament  of  some 
falling  tree. 

Kingswell  put  his  men  under  William  Trigget's 
orders,  and  he  and  Ouenwa  spent  much  of  their 
time  with  the  choppers.  Also,  they  journeyed  with 
the  trappers.  Captain  d'Antons,  who  was  a  skilled 
and  tireless  woodsman,  led  them  on  many  weary 
marches  in  quest  of  game  and  fur.  Most  of  the 
caribou  had  travelled  southward,  in  herds  of  from 
ten  to  one  hundred  head,  at  the  approach  of  win- 
ter; but  a  few  remained  in  the  sheltered  valleys. 
Fortunately  the  settlers  were  familiar  with  the 
habits  of  the  deer,  and  had  laid  in  a  supply  of 
dried  venison  during  the  summer.  However,  when- 


Meditation  and  Action  109 

ever  the  hunters  managed  to  make  a  kill,  the  fresh 
meat  was  enthusiastically  received  at  the  fort. 
Hares  and  grouse  were  snared,  as  were  foxes  and 
other  small  animals.  A  few  wolves  and  one  or  two 
wildcats  were  shot.  The  bears  were  all  tucked 
safely  away  in  their  winter  quarters,  and  the  beav- 
ers were  frozen  into  theirs.  On  the  whole,  the 
hunters  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  and  no  great  reward 
for  their  toil.  But  it  was  work  that  kept  both  their 
brains  and  sinews  employed,  and  so  was  of  a  deal 
more  worth  than  the  bare  value  of  the  pelts  and 
dinners  it  supplied. 

One  day  in  early  December,  when  Kingswell, 
D'Antons,  the  younger  Donnelly,  and  Ouenwa  were 
traversing  a  drifted  expanse  of  "  barren,"  march- 
ing in  single  file  and  without  undue  noise,  they 
came  upon  another  trail  of  racquet  prints.  They 
halted.  They  regarded  this  unexpected  evidence 
of  the  proximity  of  their  fellow  man  with  mis- 
givings —  for  snow  had  fallen  in  abundance,  and 
therefore  the  trail  was  new.  They  glanced  uneas- 
ily about  them,  scanning  clumps  of  spruce  and  fir 
and  mounds  of  snow-drifted  rock  with  anxious 
eyes.  They  strained  their  ears  for  some  warning 
sound  —  or  for  the  twanging  of  bowstrings.  They 
saw  nothing.  They  heard  nothing  but  the  discon- 


no  Brothers  of  Peril 

solate  chirping  of  a  moose-bird  in  a  thicket  close 
at  hand.     D'Antons  lowered  his  gaze  to  the  trail. 

"  From  the  westward,  and  heading  for  the 
river,"  he  said.  "  Then  they  are  not  from  the 
village  on  Gandei  Lake." 

"  Big  number,"  remarked  Ouenwa.  "  Ten, 
twenty,  thirty  —  don't  know  how  much !  Whole 
camp,  I  think." 

"  Ay,"  agreed  Donnelly,  "  they  sure  has  packed 
clear  down  through  two  falls  o'  snow.  Ye  could 
trot  a  pony  along  the  pat'  they  has  made." 

"  Are  you  on  friendly  terms  with  the  savages?  " 
inquired  Kingswell  of  Captain  d'Antons.  The 
Frenchman  smiled  uncheerfully  and  shrugged  his 
lean  shoulders.  He  was  not  one  to  speak  uncon- 
sidered  words. 

"  Yes,  we  are  on  friendly  terms  with  the  people 
from  Gander  Lake,"  he  replied,  presently.  "  That 
is,  we  have  traded  with  them  a  number  of  times, 
and  have  exchanged  gifts  with  their  chief,  and 
through  him  with  old  Soft  Hand.  But  Soft  Hand 
is  dead  now;  and  these  fellows  are  evidently  from 
the  West.  Also,  friendship  means  nothing  where 
these  vermin  are  concerned.  Treachery  is  as  the 
breath  of  life  to  them." 

"  Panounia,"  whispered  Ouenwa,  excitedly. 
"  Panounia  no  good  for  friend.  He  is  a  mur- 


Meditation  and  Action  1 1 1 

derer.  He  is  a  false  chief.  He  make  trade  —  yes, 
with  war-arrows  from  the  bushes  and  with  knives 
in  the  dark.  In  friendship  his  hand  is  under  his 
robe,  and  his  fingers  are  on  the  hilt  of  his  knife. 
Evil  warms  itself  at  his  heart  like  an  old  witch 
at  a  fire." 

D'Antons  smiled  thinly  at  the  lad.  "  There  is 
a  time  for  all  things,"  he  said  —  "a  time  for  ora- 
tory and  another  time  for  action.  If  you  are 
willing,  Master  Kingswell,  let  us  now  retrace  our 
steps  as  swiftly  and  quietly  as  may  be.  It  would 
be  wise  to  warn  the  fort  that  a  band  of  the  sly 
devils  is  abroad." 

Ouenwa  glanced  uncertainly  at  the  speaker 
and  flushed  darkly.  Kingswell  intimated  his 
willingness  to  return  immediately  to  Fort  Bea- 
trix by  a  curt  nod.  It  was  in  his  heart  to  admin- 
ister a  kick  to  Captain  Pierre  d'Antons,  though 
just  why  the  desire  he  could  not  say.  They  turned 
in  their  tracks  and  started  back  along  the  twisting, 
seven-mile  trail.  D'Antons  led;  and  the  pace  he 
set  was  a  stiff  one.  Mile  after  mile  was  passed, 
with  no  other  sound  save  those  of  padding  racquet 
and  toiling  breath.  In  the  hollows  their  shoulders 
brushed  the  snow  from  the  crowding  spruce-fronds. 
Going  over  the  knolls,  they  crouched  low,  and 
scanned  the  horizon  with  alert  eyes  as  they  ran. 


112  Brothers  of  Peril 

At  last,  all  but  breathless  from  the  prolonged 
exertion,  the  hunters  turned  aside  from  the  path 
and  ascended  the  gradual,  heavily  wooded  side  of 
a  hill  which  overlooked  the  fort  from  the  south. 
They  crossed  the  naked  summit  with  painful  cau- 
tion, bending  double,  and  taking  every  advantage 
of  the  sheltering  thickets. 

"  The  choppers  are  inside,"  whispered  D'Antons 
to  Kingswell,  as  they  peered  furtively  out  between 
the  snow-weighted  branches.  "  See !  And  the  sav- 
ages are  in  cover  along  the  river."  It  was  quite 
evident  to  Kingswell  that  the  place  had  been  at- 
tacked, and  was  now  in  a  state  of  siege.  The  plat- 
form in  the  southeast  corner  of  the  stockade  was 
protected  by  shields  composed  of  bundles  of  fire- 
wood. Men  whom  he  recognized  as  those  who  had 
been  working  in  the  woods  earlier  in  the  day  moved 
about  within  the  enclosure.  The  wide,  snow-cov- 
ered clearing  that  had  been  so  spotless  when  he 
had  last  seen  it  was  trampled  and  stained  here  and 
there  by  dark  patches.  Along  the  fringe  of  timber 
that  shut  the  river  from  the  clearing,  and  extended 
to  within  a  dozen  paces  of  the  southeast  corner  of 
the  stockade,  a  Beothic  warrior  wt>uld  frequently 
show  himself  for  a  moment,  hoot  derisively,  and 
let  fly  a  harmless  shaft.  Presently  the  watchers 
on  the  knoll  saw  the  head  and  shoulders  of  William 


Meditation  and  Action  113 

Trigget  above  the  shield  of  the  gun-platform.  The 
master  mariner  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and 
seemed  to  be  scanning  the  woods  along  the  river 
and  then  the  timber  in  which  his  own  comrades 
were  concealed.  He  lowered  his  hand  and  ducked 
quickly  —  and  not  a  second  too  soon;  for  a  flight 
of  arrows  rattled  against  his  stronghold,  a  few 
stuck,  quivering,  into  the  pickets  of  the  stockade, 
and  many  fell  within  the  fort. 

Kingswell  turned  to  D'Antons.  "  More  of  them 
than  we  thought,"  he  said.  "  There  must  have  been 
a  hundred  arrows  in  that  volley." 

Captain  d'Antons  nodded  with  a  preoccupied  air. 
He  did  not  look  at  his  companion,  and  his  brow 
was  puckered  in  lines  of  thought.  If  the  English- 
man had  been  able  to  read  the  other's  mind  at  that 
moment,  a  deal  of  future  trouble  would  have  been 
spared  him.  However,  as  Kingswell  was  but  an 
adventurous,  keen-witted  young  man,  with  no  su- 
perhuman powers,  he  was  content  with  the  French- 
man's nod,  and  returned  his  attentions  to  the  fort. 

Suddenly,  from  the  screen  of  faggots  above 
which  Trigget  had  so  lately  exposed  his  head,  burst 
a  flash  of  yellow1  flame,  a  spurt  of  white  smoke, 
and  a  clapping  bulk  of  sound.  The  stockade  shook. 
A  spruce-tree  shook  in  the  wood  by  the  river,  and 
cries  of  fear  and  consternation  rang  across  the 


114  Brothers  of  Peril 

frosty  air.  A  score  of  savages  darted  from  their 
cover  and  as  quickly  sped  back  again.  Flight  after 
flight  of  arrows  broke  away  and  tested  every  inch 
of  surface  of  Trigget's  shelter.  Then,  with  shrill 
screams  and  mad  yells  of  defiance,  the  whole  party 
of  Beothics  emerged  into  the  clearing  and  dashed 
for  the  palisade.  They  drew  their  bows  as  they 
ran,  and  some  hurled  clubs  and  spears.  In  front, 
with  red  feathers  in  his  hair  and  his  right  arm 
bandaged  across  his  breast,  Panounia  shouted  en- 
couragement and  led  the  charge.  They  were  half- 
way across  the  open  when  the  second  cannon  spat 
forth  its  message  of  hate.  The  ball  passed  low 
over  the  advancing  mass  and  plunged  into  the  tim- 
ber beyond.  For  a  second  or  two,  the  attackers 
wavered,  a  few  turned  back,  then  they  continued 
their  valorous  onset.  They  were  already  springing 
at  the  palisade  when  the  muskets  crashed  in  their 
faces  from  half  a  dozen  loopholes.  This  volley  was 
followed  immediately  by  another.  The  savages 
dropped  back  from  their  futile  leapings  against  the 
fortification,  hung  on  their  heels  for  a  moment, 
clamorous  and  undecided,  and  then  broke  for  cover. 
They  dragged  their  dead  and  wounded  with  them, 
and  left  sanguinary  trails  on  the  snow.  They  were 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  sheltering  trees  when  one 


Meditation  and  Action  115 

of  the  little  cannon  banged  again.  The  ball  cut 
across  the  mass  of  crowded  warriors  like  a  string 
through  cheese. 

"  Now    is    our    time ! "    exclaimed    Kingswell. 
"  Run  for  the  gate,  lads." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

SIGNS   OF   A   DIVIDED   HOUSE 

THE  returning  hunters  were  promptly  admitted 
to  the  fort.  The  little  garrison  welcomed  them 
joyfully.  The  West  Country  sailors  were,  for  the 
moment,  cordial  even  toward  D'Antons,  whom  they 
usually  ignored.  The  party  had  taken  a  hundred 
chances  with  death  in  the  crossing  of  the  narrow 
clearing.  Arrows  had  followed  them  from  the 
fringe  of  wood  along  the  river,  like  bees  from  an 
overturned  hive.  Ouenwa's  left  arm  had  been 
scratched.  D'Antons'  fur  cap  had  been  torn  from 
his  head,  pierced  through  and  through.  A  hail  of 
missiles  had  clattered  against  the  gate  as  the  good 
timbers  swung  to  behind  them.  Cries  of  rage  and 
chagrin,  in  which  Ouenwa's  name  was  repeated 
many  times,  rang  from  the  retreat  of  the  defeated 
warriors.  The  garrison  answered  with  cheers. 
Ouenwa's  shrill  voice  carried  clear  above  the  tumult, 
lifted  in  Beothic  insults. 

Sir  Ralph  himself  was  in  command  of  the  im- 
116 


Signs  of  a  Divided  House         117 

perilled  fortress.  The  excitement  had  stirred  him 
out  of  his  customary  gloom.  His  eyes  were  bright, 
and  his  cheeks  flew  a  patch  of  colour.  His  sword 
was  at  his  side,  and  he  held  a  musket  in  his  hand. 

"  That  was  their  third  attempt  to  get  over  the 
stockade,"  he  said  to  Kingswell  and  D'Antons. 
"  They  are  filled  with  the  very  devil  to-day.  But 
I  scarcely  think  that  they  will  come  back  for  more, 
now  that  Trigget  has  got  his  growlers  into  work- 
ing order." 

"How  did  it  begin?"  asked  the  Frenchman. 

"  Why,  about  three  score  of  them  marched  up 
and  said  they  wanted  to  come  in  and  trade,"  re- 
plied the  baronet,  "  but,  as  they  seemed  to  have 
nothing  to  trade  save  their  bows  and  spears,  Trigget 
warned  them  off.  Then  they  went  out  on  the  river 
and  began  chopping  up  the  Red  Rose  and  the  Peli- 
can. At  that  we  let  off  a  musket,  and  they  retired 
to  cover,  from  which  they  soon  emerged  with  rein- 
forcements and  tried  to  carry  the  place  by  weight 
of  numbers." 

"Hark,"  said  the  Frenchman.  "What  is  that 
they  are  yelling?  " 

"  My  name,"  replied  Ouenwa.  ."  They  are  my 
enemies." 

"  Ah,  and  so  it  is  our  privilege  to  fight  this 
gentleman's  battles  for  him,"  remarked  D'Antons, 


Ii8  Brothers  of  Peril 

with  an  exaggerated  bow  to  the  lad.  "  Perhaps 
this  is  the  explanation  of  the  attack." 

"  I  think  not,"  answered  Kingswell,  crisply. 
"  They  are  surprised  at  discovering  him  here.  Also 
they  are  surprised  and  displeased  at  seeing  me 
again.  They  have  smelled  our  powder  before,  as 
you  have  heard,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  the  heroic  tale,  monsieur," 
replied  the  captain,  smiling  his  thin,  one-sided,  Con- 
tinental smile. 

The  blood  mounted  in  Kingswell's  cheek.  He 
turned  on  his  heel  without  any  further  words. 
Ouenwa  followed  him  to  the  Trigget  cabin,  whence 
he  was  bound  for  something  to  eat. 

Panounia  and  his  braves  retreated  across  the 
frozen  river,  and  did  not  show  themselves  again 
that  day.  In  the  fort  every  musket  was  loaded,  the 
improvised  gun-shields  were  repaired  and  strength- 
ened, and  the  guns  were  again  got  ready  for  action. 
In  place  of  round  shot,  William  Trigget  charged 
them  with  scrap-iron  and  slugs  of  lead. 

"  When  ye  has  a  lot  o'  mowin'  to  do  in  a  short 
time,  cut  a  wide  swath,"  he  remarked  to  Tom  Bent. 

"  Ay,  sir,"  replied  Kingswell's  boatswain,  turn- 
ing a  hawk-like  eye  on  the  dark  edges  of  the  for- 
est. "  Ay,  sir,  cut  a  wide  swath,  an'  let  the  devil 
make  the  hay.  It  be  mun's  own  crop." 


Signs  of  a  Divided  House         119 

At  the  time  of  the  hunters'  return,  Mistress  Bea- 
trix was  looking  from  the  doorway  of  her  father's 
cabin.  Now  she  knelt  in  her  own  chamber,  sob- 
bing quietly,  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands. 
All  the  bitterness  and  insecurity  of  her  position 
had  come  to  her  with  overmastering  force.  The 
sight  of  Captain  d'Antons'  thin  face  and  uncovered, 
bedraggled  hair,  as  he  leaned  on  his  musket  and 
talked  with  her  father  and  the  young  Englishman, 
had  melted  the  courage  in  her  heart.  She  prayed 
confusedly,  half  her  thoughts  with  the  petitions 
which  she  made  to  her  God,  and  half  with  the  des- 
perate state  of  her  affairs  and  the  features  and  atti- 
tude of  the  buccaneer. 

She  was  disturbed  by  some  one  entering  the 
outer  room.  She  recognized  the  footsteps  as  those 
of  Sir  Ralph.  She  got  up  from  her  knees,  bathed 
her  face  and  eyes,  touched  her  hair  to  order  with 
skilful  fingers,  and  opened  the  door  of  her  chamber. 
The  baronet  looked  up  at  the  sound. 

"  Ah,  lass,"  he  said,  "  we've  driven  the  rascals 
off.  They  have  crossed  the  river." 

With  that  he  fell  again  to  his  slow  pacing  of  the 
room. 

"  I  do  not  fear  the  savages,"  she  cried.  "  Oh, 
I  do  think  their  knives  and  arrows  would  be  wel- 
come." 


I2O  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  Poor  child !  poor  little  lass !  "  he  said,  pausing 
beside  her  and  kissing  her  tenderly.  "  You  have 
been  weeping,"  he  added,  concernedly.  "  But  cour- 
age, dear.  The  fellow  is  harmless  for  five  long 
months  to  come.  His  fangs  are  as  good  as  filed, 
shut  off  here  and  surrounded  by  the  snow  and  the 
savages." 

Evidently  the  sight  of  his  daughter's  distress  had 
dimmed  the  finer  conception  of  his  promise  to 
D'Antons.  He  looked  about  him  uneasily  and 
sighed. 

She  laid  her  face  against  his  coat  and  held  tight 
to  his  sleeves. 

"  I  hate  him,"  she  whispered.  "  Oh,  my  father, 
I  hate  him  for  my  own  sake  as  much  as  I  fear 
him  for  yours.  His  every  covert  glance,  his  every 
open  attention,  stings  me  like  a  whip.  And  yet, 
out  of  fear,  I  must  smile  and  simper,  and  play  the 
hypocrite." 

"  No  —  by  God !  "  exclaimed  Westleigh,  trem- 
bling with  emotion.  Then,  more  quietly,  "  Beatrix, 
I  cannot  wear  this  mask  any  longer.  The  fellow  is 
hateful  to  me.  I  despise  him.  How  such  a  crea- 
tion of  the  devil's  can  love  you  so  unswervingly 
is  more  than  I  can  fathom.  I  would  rather  see 
you  dead  than  married  to  him.  There  —  I  have 
broken  my  word  again !  Let  me  go." 


Signs  of  a  Divided  House         121 

He  freed  himself  from  the  girl's  hands,  caught 
up  his  hat  and  cloak,  and  left  the  cabin.  He  crossed 
over  to  the  well-house,  where  some  of  the  men  were 
grinding  axes  and  cutlasses,  and  joined  feverishly 
in  their  simple  talk  of  work,  and  battle,  and  ad- 
venture. Their  honest  faces  and  homely  language 
drove  a  little  of  the  bitterness  of  his  shame  from 
him.  Presently  Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  joined  the 
group  about  the  complaining  grindstone. 

"  Come,"  said  Sir  Ralph,  "  and  look  at  the  can- 
non." 

He  plucked  Kingswell  by  the  sleeve.  Ouenwa 
followed  them.  All  three  ascended  the  little  plat- 
form on  which  the  guns  were  mounted,  by  way 
of  a  short  ladder.  The  pieces,  ready  loaded,  were 
snugly  covered  with  tarpaulins  that  could  be 
snatched  off  in  a  turn  of  the  hand. 

"  A  worthy  fellow  is  William  Trigget,"  remarked 
the  baronet.  "  Ay,  he  is  true  as  steel." 

He  laid  a  caressing  hand  on  the  breech  of  one 
of  the  little  cannon.  "  I  would  trust  him,  yea,  and 
his  good  fellows,  with  anything  I  possess,"  he  said, 
"  as  readily  as  I  trust  these  growlers  to  his  care." 

Just  then  Ouenwa  pointed  northward  to  the 
wooded  bluff  that  cut  into  the  white  valley  and 
hid  the  settlement  from  the  lower  reaches  of  the 
river.  From  beyond  the  point,  moving  slowly  and 


122  Brothers  of  Peril 

unsteadily,  appeared  a  solitary  human  figure.  Its 
course  lay  well  out  on  the  level  floor  of  the  stream, 
and  the  forest  growth  along  the  shore  did  not  con- 
ceal it  from  the  watchers.  It  approached  uncer- 
tainly, as  if  without  a  definite  goal,  and,  when 
within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  fort,  staggered 
and  fell  prone. 

"  What  the  devil  does  it  mean  ?  "  cried  Sir  Ralph. 

Kingswell  shook  his  head,  and  questioned 
Ouenwa.  The  lad  continued  to  gaze  out  across  the 
open.  The  sun  was  low  over  the  western  hills,  and 
its  light  was  red  on  the  snow. 

"  Hurt,"  he  said,  presently.  "  Maybe  starved. 
He  is  not  of  Panounia's  band." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  lad  ?  "  asked  the  baro- 
net. 

"  I  know,"  replied  the  boy.  "  He  is  a  hunter. 
He  is  not  of  the  war-party.  He  is  from  the  salt 
water." 

"  He  is  usually  right  when  he  maintains  that  a 
thing  is  so,  without  being  able  to  give  a  reason 
for  it,"  said  Kingswell,  quietly.  "  And,  if  he  is, 
it  seems  a  pity  to  let  the  man  die  out  there  under 
our  very  eyes." 

"  God  knows  I  do  not  want  any  one  to  suffer," 
said  the  baronet,  "  but  may  it  not  be  a  trick  of  this 
Panounia's,  or  whatever  you  call  him?" 


Signs  of  a  Divided  House         123 

"  No  trick,"  replied  Ouenwa ;  and,  without  so 
much  as  "  by  your  leave,"  he  vaulted  over  the 
breastwork  of  faggots  and  landed  lightly  on  the 
snow  outside  the  stockade.  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  Kingswell  followed.  Together  they 
started  toward  the  still  figure  out  on  the  river,  at 
a  brisk  run.  They  had  reached  the  bank  before  Sir 
Ralph  recovered  from  his  astonishment.  He  quickly 
descended  to  the  square,  and,  without  attracting  any 
attention,  informed  William  Trigget  of  what  had 
happened.  Trigget  and  his  son  immediately 
ascended  to  the  guns  and  drew  off  their  tarpaulins. 
"  We'll  cover  the  retreat,  sir,"  said  the  mariner. 
They  saw  their  reckless  comrades  bend  over  the 
prostrate  stranger.  Then  Kingswell  lifted  the  ap- 
parently lifeless  body  and  started  back  at  a  jog  trot. 
Ouenwa  lagged  behind,  with  his  head  continually 
over  his  shoulder.  The  elder  Trigget  swore  a  great 
oath,  and  smacked  a  knotty  fist  into  a  leathern  palm. 

"  Them's  well-plucked  uns,"  he  added. 

The  baronet  and  John  Trigget  agreed  silently. 
They  were  too  intent  on  the  approach  of  the  res- 
cuers to  speak.  Also,  they  kept  a  keen  outlook 
along  the  woods  on  the  farther  shore.  But  the 
enemy  made  no  sign ;  and  Kingswell,  Ouenwa,  and 
the  unconscious  stranger  reached  the  stockade  in 
safety.  The  stranger  proved  to  be  none  other  than 


124  Brothers   of  Peril 

Black  Feather,  the  stalwart  and  kindly  brave  who 
had  built  his  lodge  beside  the  old  arrow-maker's, 
above  Wigwam  Harbour,  in  the  days  of  peace. 
He  was  carried  into  Trigget's  cabin  and  dosed  with 
French  brandy  until  he  opened  his  eyes.  He  looked 
about  him  blankly  for  a  second  or  two,  and  then 
his  lids  fluttered  down  again.  He  had  not  recog- 
nized either  Kingswell  or  Ouenwa. 

"  Oh,  the  poor  lad,  the  poor  lad,"  cried  Dame 
Trigget.  "  Whatever  has  mun  been  a-doin'  now, 
to  get  so  distressin'  scrawny?  An'  a  fine  figger, 
too,  though  he  be  a  heathen,  without  a  manner  o' 
doubt." 

"  Never  mind  his  religious  beliefs,  dame,  but 
get  some  of  your  good  venison  broth  inside  of  him," 
said  Master  Kingswell.  "  That's  a  treatment  that 
would  surely  convert  any  number  of  heathen." 

While  they  were  clustered  about  Black  Feather's 
couch,  D'Antons  entered.  He  peered  over  Dame 
Trigget's  ample  shoulders  and  looked  considerably 
surprised  at  finding  an  unconscious,  emaciated  Beo- 
thic  the  centre  of  attraction. 

"What's  this?"  he  asked.  "A  tragedy  or  a 
comedy?  " 

His  tone  was  sour,  and  too  bantering  for  the 
occasion. 

The  baronet  turned  on  him  with  an  expression 


Signs  of  a  Divided  House         125 

of  mouth  and  eye  that  did  not  pass  unnoticed  by 
the  little  group. 

"  Certainly  not  a  comedy,  monsieur,"  he  replied, 
coldly;   "  and  we  hope  it  will  not  prove  a  tragedy." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

A   TRICK   OF   PLAY  -  ACTING 

MEALS  were  not  served  in  Captain  d'Antons' 
cabin.  The  little  settlement  possessed  but  one  serv- 
ant among  all  its  workers,  and  that  one  was  Mag- 
gie Stone,  Mistress  Westleigh's  old  nurse.  The 
care  of  Sir  Ralph's  establishment  was  all  she  could 
attend  to.  So  the  men  who  had  no  women-folk 
of  their  own  to  cook  for  them  were  fed  by  Dame 
Trig-get  and  her  sturdy  daughter  Joyce,  or  by  the 
Donnelly  women.  Kingswell  and  D'Antons  took 
their  meals  at  Dame  Trigget's  table,  and  were 
served  by  themselves,  with  every  mark  of  respect. 
Ouenwa,  Tom  Bent,  Harding,  and  Clotworthy 
shared  the  Donnellys'  board. 

A  few  hours  after  Black  Feather's  rescue,  Kings- 
well  and  D'Antons  sat  opposite  one  another  at  a 
small  table  near  the  hearth  of  the  Triggets'  living- 
room.  A  stew  of  venison  and  a  bottle  of  French 
wine  stood  between  them.  D'Antons  took  up  the 

bottle,  and  made  as  if  to  fill  the  other's  glass. 

126 


A  Trick  of  Play- Acting          127 

"  One  moment,"  said  Kingswell,  raising  his  hand. 

The  Frenchman  looked  at  him  keenly  and  set 
down  the  vintage.  The  Englishman  leaned  for- 
ward. 

"  Captain  d'Antons,"  he  said,  scarce  above  a 
whisper,  "  a  remark  that  you  made  to-day  seemed 
to  imply  that  you  considered  me  a  braggart.  Your 
remark  was  in  reference  to  the  brushes  between  the 
Pelican  and  a  party  of  natives  during  our  cruise 
from  the  North.  Before  I  take  wine  with  you  to- 
night, I  want  you  to  either  withdraw  or  explain 
your  implication." 

While  Kingswell  spoke,  the  other's  eyes  flashed 
and  calmed  again.  Now  his  dark  face  wore  an 
even  look  of  puzzled  inquiry.  His  fine  eyes,  clear 
now  of  the  expression  of  cynicism  which  so  often 
marred  them,  held  the  Englishman's  without  any 
sign  of  either  embarrassment  or  anger.  His  hand 
returned  to  the  neck  of  the  bottle  and  lingered 
there.  Lord,  but  the  drama  lost  an  exceptionally 
fine  interpreter  when  the  high  seas  claimed  Pierre 
d'Antons!  The  thin,  clean-shaven  lips  trembled  — 
or  was  it  the  wavering  of  the  candle-light? 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  softly,  "  how  unfortunate 
am  I  in  my  stupidity  —  in  my  blundering  use  of 
the  English  language.  Whatever  my  words  were, 
when  I  spoke  of  having  already  heard  of  your 


128  Brothers  of  Peril 

fights  with  the  savages,  my  meaning  was  such  that 
no  one  would  take  exception  to.  Did  I  use  the  word 
heroic,  monsieur?  Then  heroic,  noble,  was  what 
I  meant.  An  Englishman  would  have  made  use  of 
a  smaller,  a  simpler  word,  perhaps;  or  would  have 
refrained  from  any  display  of  admiration.  Ah,  I 
am  unfortunate  in  my  heritage  of  French  and  Span- 
ish blood  —  the  blood  that  is  outspoken  both  for 
praise  and  blame." 

Poor,  honest  Kingswell  was  shaken  with  conflict- 
ing1 emotions.  His  heart  told  him  the  man  was 
lying.  His  eyes  assured  him  that  he  had  been 
grievously  mistaken,  not  only  in  the  matter  of  the 
remark  concerning  the  skirmishes  with  the  Beothics, 
but  in  his  whole  opinion  of  the  Frenchman.  His 
blood  surged  to  his  head,  and  whispered  that  he 
was  a  young  fool  to  be  hoodwinked  so  easily.  His 
brain  was  sadly  uncertain.  A  twinge  of  pity  for 
the  handsome  adventurer  —  for  the  love-struck  buc- 
caneer —  went  through  him.  But  it  faded  at  re- 
membrance of  Sir  Ralph's  story.  He  knew  the 
fellow  was  playing  with  him. 

"Wine,  monsieur?"  inquired  D'Antons,  softly, 
with  a  smile  of  infinite  sweetness  and  shy  persua- 
sion. 

With  a  mumbled  apology,  the  young  Englishman 
pushed  forward  his  glass,  and  the  red  wine  swam 


A  Trick  of  Play-Acting          129 

to  the  brim.  And  all  the  while  he  was  inwardly 
cursing  his  own  weakness  and  the  other's  strength. 
He  had  not  the  courage  to  meet  the  Frenchman's 
look  when  they  raised  their  glasses  and  clinked  them 
across  the  table.  Lord,  what  a  calf  he  was! 

Had  he  no  will  of  his  own?  Did  he  possess 
neither  knowledge  of  men  nor  mother  wit?  Ah, 
but  he  rated  himself  pitilessly  as  he  bent  his  flushed 
face  over  his  plate  of  stew. 

When  the  meal  was  finished,  Kingswell  returned 
to  Black  Feather's  couch,  and  D'Antons  went  over 
to  his  own  cabin.  By  this  time  Black  Feather  had 
recovered  consciousness  and  swallowed  some  of 
Dame  Trigget's  broth;  also,  he  had  recognized 
Ouenwa  and  murmured  a  few  words  to  the  lad  in 
his  own  tongue.  But,  beyond  that,  he  was  too  weak 
to  disclose  anything  of  what  had  happened  in  Wig- 
wam Harbour  after  the  slaying  of  Soft  Hand.  He 
lay  very  still,  apparently  lifeless,  except  for  his 
quick,  bright  eyes,  which  moved  restlessly  in  ques- 
tioning scrutiny  of  the  strange  women  and  bearded 
men  'who  sat  about  the  room.  Ouenwa  held  one 
of  the  transparent  hands  and  smiled  assuringly. 

For  half  an  hour  Kingswell  sat  beside  the  man 
he  had  rescued  so  courageously  from  death  by  star- 
vation. Then,  feeling  the  heat  of  the  room  and 
the  confusion  of  his  thoughts  too  much  to  enter- 


130  Brothers  of  Peril 

tain  calmly,  he  went  out  into  the  cold  and  darkness 
and  paced  up  and  down.  All  unknowing,  he  kicked 
the  snow  viciously  every  step.  He  was  still  in  a 
perturbed  state  of  mind  and  temper  when  William 
Trigget  approached  him  through  the  gloom  and 
touched  his  elbow. 

"  Askin'  your  pardon,  master,"  he  said,  standing 
close,  "  but  w'hat  of  that  Injun  in  there  ?  Be  he 
really  sick,  or  be  he  playing  a  game  ?  " 

"  He  is  surely  sick,  and  he  is  just  as  surely  not 
playing  a  game,"  replied  Kingswell.  "  But  why 
do  you  ask?  The  fellow  is  a  friend  of  Ouenwa's, 
and  was  one  of  old  Soft  Hand's  warriors." 

"  Ay,  sir,  but  maybe  mun  has  changed  his  coat," 
said  Trigget,  "  an'  has  shammed  sick  just  to  get 
carried  inside  the  fort.  There  be  something  goin' 
on  outside,  for  certain." 

"What?"  asked  the  other. 

Then  Trigget  told  how  he  had  been  startled,  while 
standing  under  the  gun-platform,  by  a  sound  of 
scrambling  outside  the  stockade.  He  had  crawled 
noiselessly  up  the  ladder  and  looked  over  the  breast- 
works about  the  guns.  He  had  been  able  to  distin- 
guish something  darker  than  the  surrounding  dark- 
ness crouched  against  the  palisade  under  him.  The 
thing  had  moved  cautiously.  He  had  detached  a 
feggx>t  from  one  of  the  bundles  beside  him,  for  lack 


A  Trick  of  Play- Acting          131 

of  a  better  weapon,  and  had  hurled  it  down  at  the 
black  form.  There  had  sounded  a  stifled  cry,  and 
the  thing  had  vanished  in  the  night. 

"  It  were  one  o'  they  savages,  I  know,"  concluded 
Trigget. 

Kingswell  forgot  his  personal  grievance  in  the 
face  of  this  menace  from  the  hidden  enemy. 

"  The  guards  should  be  doubled,"  he  said.  "  But 
come,  we  must  let  Sir  Ralph  know  of  it." 

They  crossed  the  yard  to  the  baronet's  cabin 
and  knocked  on  the  door.  Maggie  Stone  admitted 
them  to  the  outer  room,  where  Sir  Ralph  and  Mis- 
tress Beatrix  were  seated,  the  girl  reading  aloud 
to  her  father  by  the  light  of  one  poor  candle.  But 
the  great  fire  on  the  hearth  had  the  place  fairly 
illuminated. 

William  Trigget,  undismayed  by  fog  and  bad 
weather,  cool  in  any  risk  of  land  or  sea,  was  too 
abashed  at  the  presence  of  the  lady  to  tell  his  story. 
So  Master  Kingswell  told  it  for  him. 

"  The  guards  must  be  doubled,"  said  Sir  Ralph. 

"  They  be  that  already,  sir,"  replied  Trigget, 
breaking  the  spell  of  the  bright  eyes  that  surveyed 
him. 

"  That  is  well,"  answered  the  baronet.  "  There 
is  nothing  else  to  be  done,  at  least  until  morning, 
but  sleep  light  and  keep  your  muskets  handy." 


132  Brothers  of  Peril 

Kingswell  and  the  master  mariner  returned  to 
the  darkness  without. 

"  I  will  stake  my  word,"  said  Kingswell,  "  that 
the  place  is  surrounded  by  the  devils  even  now,  and 
that  they  will  try  again  to  get  a  man  over  the  wall 
to  unbar  the  gates." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE   HIDDEN    MENACE 

NEITHER  Kingswell  nor  Trigget  found  time  for 
sleep  that  night.  D'Antons  also  kept  awake,  though 
he  spent  only  a  few  hours  out-of-doors.  His  candle 
burned  until  daylight.  Ouenwa  experienced  a  rest- 
less night  beside  Black  Feather's  couch.  From  ten 
o'clock  until  two  Tom  Bent,  John  Trigget,  and  the 
younger  Donnelly  were  on  guard,  with  cutlasses  on 
their  hips  and  half-pikes  in  their  hands  —  for  a 
musket  would  have  proved  but  an  unsatisfactory 
weapon  to  a  man  engaged  in  a  sudden  scuffle  in  the 
dark.  One  man  was  placed  on  the  gun-platform, 
another  at  the  gate,  and  a  third  on  the  roof  of 
the  storehouse.  Kingswell  and  William  Trigget 
moved  continually  from  one  point  to  another.  At 
two  o'clock  the  elder  Donnelly,  Clotworthy,  and 
Harding  relieved  their  companions.  But  the  two 
officers  remained  at  their  self-imposed  duty. 

At  last  dawn  outlined  the  eastern  horizon. 
Kingswell,  who  had  been  pacing  the  length  of  the 


134  Brothers  of  Peril 

riverward  stockade  for  the  past  hour,  sighed  with 
relief,  yawned,  and  was  about  to  retire  to  D'Antons' 
cabin,  when  William  Trigget  approached  him  at 
a  run.  The  master  mariner's  face  was  ghastly 
above  his  bushy  whiskers. 

"  Come  this  way,  sir,"  he  murmured,  huskily. 

Kingswell  followed  him  to  the  storehouse  and 
up  to  the  roof,  by  way  of  a  rough  ladder  that  leaned 
against  the  wall.  There,  on  the  outward  slope  of 
the  roof,  where  the  snow  was  trampled  and  broken, 
sprawled  the  body  of  Peter  Clotworthy. 

"  What !  Asleep !  "  exclaimed  Kingswell,  peer- 
ing close.  The  light  was  not  strong  enough  to  dis- 
close the  features  of  the  recumbent  sentinel. 

"  Ay,  an'  sound  enough,  God  knows,"  replied 
Trigget,  "  with  no  chance  o'  wakin'  this  side  o'  the 
Judgment-Seat." 

"  Dead  ?  "  cried  the  other,  sinking  to  his  knees 
beside  the  body.  He  pressed  his  hand  against  the 
mariner's  side,  held  it  there  for  a  moment,  and 
withdrew  it,  wet  with  blood.  He  raised  it  toward 
the  growing  illumination  of  the  east,  staring  at  it 
with  wide  eyes.  "  Blood,"  he  murmured.  "  Stabbed 
without  a  squeal  —  without  a  whimper,  by 
Heaven !  "  Then  he  ripped  out  an  oath,  and  fol- 
lowed it  close  with  a  prayer  for  his  dead  comrade's 
soul.  For  all  his  golden  curls,  this  Bernard  Kings- 


The  Hidden  Menace  135 

well  had  a  hot  and  ready  tongue  —  and  a  temper 
to  suit,  when  occasion  offered. 

The  two  discoverers  of  the  tragedy  remained  on 
the  roof  of  the  storehouse  for  some  time.  The  light 
strengthened  and  spread  on  their  right,  and,  at  last, 
gave  them  a  clear,  gray  view  of  the  narrow  clearing 
and  wooded  hummocks  to  the  north.  On  the  snow 
below  them,  which  was  otherwise  unmarked,  they 
saw  the  imprints  of  one  pair  of  moccasined  feet. 
The  marks  did  not  lead  to  or  from  the  near  cover 
of  the  woods,  but  to  the  south,  around  the  fort. 
The  telltale  snow  showed  how  Clotworthy's  mur- 
derer had  approached  close  tinder  the  stockade,  and, 
after  his  silent  deed  of  violence,  had  jumped  a  dis- 
tance of  about  twenty  feet,  from  the  roof  of  the 
store,  and  landed  on  all  fours.  A  stain  of  blood, 
evidently  from  the  reeking  knife  in  the  slayer's  hand, 
smirched  the  snow  where  it  was  broken  by  his  fall. 
From  there  the  steps  returned  by  the  same  course, 
but  at  a  distance  of  about  ten  paces  from  the 
stockade. 

Kingswell  looked  from  the  tracks  in  the  snow  to 
the  colourless,  distorted  features  of  the  dead  sea- 
man. Then  his  gaze  met  Trigget's  deep-set  eyes. 
He  was  pale,  and  his  lips  were  drawn  in  a  hard 
line,  as  if  the  frost  had  stiffened  them. 

"  Poor   Gptworthy,"   he   murmured,   and   swal-. 


136  Brothers  of  Peril 

lowed  as  if  his  throat  were  dry.  "  Poor  devil, 
knifed  into  eternity  without  a  fighting  chance.  See, 
he  was  clubbed  first  and  then  knifed  —  felled  and 
bled  like  an  ox  in  a  shambles!  Ten  nights  of  this 
hellishness  will  account  for  the  whole  garrison." 

With  a  broad,  deep-sea  oath,  Trigget  replied  that 
there' d  be  no  ten  nights  of  it. 

They  lifted  the  stiff  body  that  had,  so  lately, 
been  animated  by  the  fearless  spirit  of  Richard 
Clotworthy,  able  seaman,  to  the  ground  and  car- 
ried it  reverently  to  the  Donnelly  cabin.  The  other 
inmates  of  the  little  settlement  were  deeply  affected 
by  the  sight,  and  by  Kingswell's  story.  The 
younger  men  were  for  setting  out  immediately  and 
driving  the  Beothics  from  the  woods  on  the  far 
side  of  the  river.  But  the  wiser  heads  prevailed 
against  such  recklessness,  arguing  that  the  only 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  remain  constantly  on  guard. 
The  women  wept.  Ouenwa,  trembling  with  sorrow 
and  rage,  placed  his  fine  belt  and  beaded  quiver 
beside  the  body  of  his  dead  comrade,  and  vowed, 
in  English  and  Beothic,  that  he  would  avenge  this 
murder  as  he  intended  to  avenge  the  murders  of 
his  father  and  his  grandfather. 

The  day  passed  without  any  sign  of  the  hidden 
enemy.  Kingswell  slept  until  noon.  By  evening 
.Black  Feather  had  recovered  enough  strength  to 


The  Hidden   Menace  137 

enable  him  to  tell  his  pitiful  story  to  Ouenwa.  His 
lodge,  and  that  of  Montaw,  the  arrow-maker,  had 
been  torn  down  by  the  followers  of  Panounia  shortly 
after  the  departure  of  the  Pelican  from  Wigwam 
Harbour.  Montaw  had  died  fighting.  Black 
Feather,  grievously  wounded,  had  been  bound  and 
carried  far  up  the  River  of  Three  Fires.  His  wife 
and  children  also  had  been  captured  and  maltreated. 
The  ships  in  the  bay  had  looked  on  at  the  unequal 
struggle  ashore  without  demonstrations  of  any  kind. 
Upon  reaching  the  village  on  the  river,  Black 
Feather  had  been  driven  to  the  meanest  work  — 
work  unbecoming  a  warrior  of  his  standing  —  and 
his  wife  and  children  had  been  led  farther  up-stream, 
very  likely  to  Wind  Lake.  Black  Feather  had  seen 
the  body  of  Soft  Hand  lying  exposed  on  the  top 
of  a  knoll,  at  the  mercy  of  birds  and  beasts.  He 
had  bided  his  time.  At  last  he  had  gnawed  the 
thongs  with  which  his  tormentors  bound  him  at 
night,  and  had  safely  made  his  escape.  He  could 
not  say  how  long  ago  that  was.  Days  and  nights 
had  become  strangely  mixed  in  his  desperate  mind. 
He  had  lived  on  such  birds  and  hares  as  he  had 
been  able  to  kill  with  sticks.  Always  he  had  kept 
up  his  journey,  shaping  his  course  toward  the  salt 
water,  in  the  hope  of  meeting  some  tribesmen  who 
might  have  remained  loyal  to  the  murdered  chief. 


138  Brothers   of  Peril 

But  he  had  met  with  nobody  in  all  that  desolate 
journey,  until,  only  the  day  before,  he  had  recovered 
consciousness  in  Fort  Beatrix. 

That  night,  John  Trigget  was  attacked  at  his 
post  on  the  gun-platform,  and  in  the  struggle  that 
ensued  was  cut  shrewdly  about  the  arm.  So  sud- 
den and  noiseless  was  the  onslaught  out  of  the  dark 
that  he  fought  in  silence,  only  remembering  to  shout 
for  help  after  the  savage  had  squirmed  from  his 
embrace  and  escaped.  His  arm  was  bandaged  by 
Sir  Ralph,  and  Tom  Bent  and  Ouenwa  took  his 
place.  But  daylight  arrived  without  any  further 
demonstration  on  the  part  of  the  enemy. 

By  this  time  the  little  garrison  was  bitten  by  a 
restlessness  that  would  not  be  denied.  Even  Kings- 
well  and  William  Trigget  were  for  making  some 
sort  of  attack  upon  the  hidden  band  beyond  the 
river.  D'Antons,  contrary  to  his  habit,  had  noth- 
ing to  say  either  for  or  against  an  aggressive  move- 
ment. Sir  Ralph  was  for  quietly  and  cautiously 
awaiting  development;  but,  seeing  the  spirit  of  the 
men,  he  agreed  that  five  of  the  garrison  should 
sally  forth  in  search  of  the  enemy. 

"  Whom  I  have  not  a  doubt  you'll  find,"  con- 
cluded the  baronet,  wearily,  "  though  what  the  devil 
you'll  do  with  them  then  is  more  than  I  can  ven- 
ture to  predict." 


The  Hidden    Menace  139 

Under  William  Trigget's  supervision,  one  of  the 
cannon  was  taken  from  the  platform  and  mounted 
on  a  heavy  and  solid  flat  of  logs,  and  that,  in  turn, 
was  placed  on  a  sled.  On  the  same  sled  were  fas- 
tened rammers  and  mops  and  bags  of  powder  and 
shot.  The  daring  party  was  made  up  of  Master 
Kingswell,  William  Trigget,  Ouenwa,  Tom  Bent, 
and  the  younger  Donnelly.  D'Antons  did  not  vol- 
unteer his  services  on  the  expedition.  The  men 
were  all  well  armed  with  muskets  and  cutlasses,  and 
all  save  Ouenwa  had  fastened  steel  breastplates 
under  their  coats.  As  they  marched  away,  Mistress 
Westleigh  waved  them  "  Godspeed  "  with  a  scarf 
of  Spanish  lace,  from  where  she  stood  in  the  open 
gate  between  her  father  and  Captain  d'Antons. 

The  little  party  moved  down  the  bank  and  across 
the  river  slowly  and  with  commendable  caution. 
Trigget  and  Kingswell  walked  ahead,  and  kept  a 
sharp  lookout  on  the  dark  edges  of  the  forest.  Don- 
nelly and  Tom  Bent  followed  about  ten  paces  be- 
hind, dragging  the  gun.  Ouenwa  scouted  along  on 
the  left,  with  a  musket  and  a  lighted  match,  which 
he  feared  far  worse  than  he  did  any  number  of 
Beothic  warriors.  The  river  was  crossed  without 
accident  on  the  wide  trail  left  by  the  enemy's  re- 
treat. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE   CLOVEN    HOOF 

SIR  RALPH  WESTLEIGH  was  in  the  storehouse, 
Maggie  Stone  was  gossiping  with  Dame  Trigget, 
and  Beatrix  was  alone  by  the  fire  when  Captain 
d'Antons  rapped  on  the  cabin  door,  and  entered 
without  waiting  for  a  summons.  He  was  dressed 
in  his  bravest  suit  and  finest  boots.  After  closing 
the  door  behind  him,  he  bowed  low  to  the  girl  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  room.  She  instantly  stood 
up  and  curtseyed  with  a  deal  of  grace,  but  no 
warmth  whatever. 

"  My  father  is  not  in,  Captain  d'Antons,"  she 
said. 

He  smiled  and  approached  her  with  every  show 
of  deference. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,"  he  murmured,  "  I  have  not 
come  to  see  the  good  baronet.  I  have  come  to  learn 
my  fate  from  the  dearest  lips  in  the  world." 

The  girl  blushed  crimson,  with  a  tumult  of  emo- 
tions that  almost  forced  the  tears  past  her  lids. 

140 


The  Cloven  Hoof  141 

Fear,  hate,  and  a  reckless  joy  at  the  thought  that 
she  was  done  with  pretence  struggled  in  her  heart. 
She  tried  to  speak,  but  her  voice  caught  in  her 
throat,  and  accomplished  nothing  but  a  dry  sob. 

D'Antons'  eyes  shone  with  ardour.  The  hope 
which  had  been  somewhat  clouded  of  late  flashed 
clear  again.  "  Beatrix,"  he  cried,  softly,  "  I  have 
wooed  you  long.  Is  it  not  that  I  have  won  at  last 
beyond  peradventure  ?  Do  not  deny  it,  my  sweet." 
He  caught  her  to  him,  and  attempted  to  kiss  her 
bright  lips;  but,  with  a  low  cry  and  a  quite  unex- 
pected display  of  strength,  she  wrenched  herself 
from  his  embrace.  She  did  not  try  to  leave  the 
room.  She  did  not  call  for  help.  She  faced  him, 
with  flashing  eyes  and  angry  cheeks  and  clinched 
hands. 

The  fellow  stood  uncertain  for  a  moment,  show- 
ing his  chagrin  and  amazement  like  any  country 
clown.  But  his  recovery  was  quick.  His  mouth 
took  on  a  thin  smile;  his  eyes  darkened  with  sin- 
ister shadows.  He  looked  the  girl  coolly  up  and 
down.  He  laughed  softly. 

"  This  feigned  anger  adds  to  your  beauty,  Bea- 
trix," he  said. 

"  I  beg  you  to  leave  me,  sir,"  she  replied,  trem- 
bling. "  Your  presence  is  distasteful  to  me." 

"  A  sudden  turn,"  said  he.    "  Now  a  month  ago, 


142  Brothers   of  Peril 

or  even  a  week  ago,  you  seemed  of  a  different  mind. 
As  for  the  days  of  our  first  meeting  in  merry  Lon- 
don —  ah,  then  your  lips  were  not  so  unattainable." 

"  I  hate  you,"  she  murmured.  "  I  despise  you. 
I  loath  you.  You  taint  the  arr  for  me.  Dog,  to 
make  a  boast  of  having  filched  a  kiss  from  a  light- 
hearted  girl  —  who  did  not  know  you  for  the  com- 
mon fellow  that  you  are." 

"  Beatrix,"  cried  the  man,  "  this  is  no  stage  com- 
edy. We  are  not  players.  I  have  asked  you,  too 
many  times,  to  be  my  wife.  I  ask  you  once  more. 
You  know  that  your  father's  life  is  in  my  hands. 
Tell  me  now,  will  you  promise  to  marry  me,  or  will 
you  let  your  father  go  to  the  gallows  in  the  spring, 
and  this  plantation  be  put  to  the  torch?  Whatever 
your  choice,  my  beauty,  you  will  accompany  me 
to  New  Spain  next  summer.  It  is  for  you  to  say 
whether  you  go  as  my  wife  or  my  mistress." 

At  that  the  girl's  face  went  white  as  paper.  But 
her  eyes  were  steady. 

D'Antons  lowered  his  gaze.  He  was  half- 
ashamed,  nay,  more  than  that,  of  his  words. 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  say,"  she  replied,  very 
softly,  "  which  would  be  the  most  dishonourable 
position  for  an  English  gentlewoman  to  occupy. 
That  of  your  wife,  I  think,  monsieur  —  for,  as  your 
wife,  she  would  be  known  by  your  name." 


The   Cloven  Hoof  143 

His  shame  leaped  to  anger  at  that  soft-spoken 
insult.  He  caught  her  roughly  by  the  wrists. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  "  you  must  be  more  gentle. 
You  seem  to  forget  that  you  are  not  sacking  a 
defenceless  towti.  Also,  you  forget  that  you  have 
not  a  friend  or  a  follower  in  this  wilderness,  and 
that  any  man  or  woman  in  the  fort  would  shoot 
you  down  like  a  dog  at  a  word  from  me." 

For  a  little  while  they  eyed  each  other  steadily 
enough  —  her  face  still  beautiful  despite  the  ban- 
tering cruelty  of  lips  and  eyes,  and  the  loathing 
in  every  line  of  it;  his  the  face  of  a  devil.  Then, 
with  a  muttered  oath,  he  closed  his  fingers  on  her 
tender  flesh,  pressing  with  all  his  strength. 

"  Ah,  my  fine  lady,"  he  cried,  harshly,  "  you  think 
yourself  strong  enough  to  flout  Pierre  d'Antons,  do 
you?  Strong  enough  to  spurn  the  protection  of 
a  soldier  and  a  gentleman !  Cry  now  for  your  girl- 
faced  Kingswell  —  for  your  golden-haired  fellow 
countryman." 

By  that  even  her  lips  were  colourless,  and  her 
eyes  were  wet.  "  There  is  no  need,"  she  said, 
bravely,  "  for  I  hear  my  father  at  the  door." 

D'Antons  dropped  her  wrists  and  took  a  back- 
ward step.  In  doing  so,  his  heel  struck  the  leg  of 
a  stool,  and  the  scabbard  of  his  sword  rang  dis- 
cordantly. He  reeled,  recovering  himself  just  as 


144  Brothers  of  Peril 

Sir  Ralph  crossed  the  threshold.  Before  either  of 
the  men  had  time  to  speak,  Beatrix  darted  forward 
and  struck  the  Frenchman  savagely  across  the  face 
with  her  open  hand.  Then,  without  a  word  of 
either  explanation  or  greeting  to  her  father,  she 
passed  D'Antons  swiftly,  sped  down  the  length  of 
the  room,  and  entered  her  own  chamber. 

"What  does  this  mean,  captain?"  inquired  the 
baronet,  coldly.  D'Antons,  scarcely  recovered  from 
the  blow,  strode  toward  him. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  he  cried.  "  It  means, 
my  fine  old  cock,  that  your  neck  will  be  pulled  out 
of  joint  when  we  get  away  from  this  God-for- 
gotten desolation.  Ah,  you  liar,  why  did  I  not  have 
you  strung  up  to  a  yard-arm  when  you  were  safely 
in  my  power?  Stab  me,  but  I've  been  too  soft  — 
and  my  reward  is  insults  from  the  wench  of  an 
exiled  card-cheat  and  murderer." 

His  voice  was  raised  almost  to  a  scream.  His 
face  quivered  with  passion.  He  thrust  it  within  a 
few  inches  of  the  baronet's. 

"  Liar  and  cheat,"  he  cried,  furiously. 

"  Softly,  softly,"  replied  Sir  Ralph.  "  I  cannot 
abide  being  bawled  at  in  my  own  house,  especially 
by  such  scum  of  a  French  muck  heap  as  you.  Keep 
your  distance,  fellow,  or,  by  God,  I'll  do  you  a 
hurt.  What's  this!  You'd  presume?" 


The   Cloven  Hoof  145 

They  withdrew  on  the  instant.  The  two  swords 
came  clear  in  the  same  second  of  time. 

"  Gabier  de  potence,"  cried  D'Antons. 

"  Canaille"  replied  the  baronet,  blandly.  Evi- 
dently the  rasp  of  the  steel  had  mended  his  temper. 
He  even  smiled  a  little  at  his  adoption  of  his  ad- 
versary's mother-tongue. 

The  men  were  excellently  matched  as  swords- 
men. But  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  passes  had 
been  made  and  parried  before  Beatrix  ran  into  the 
room,  crying  to  them  to  put  up  their  swords. 

"  Go  back,"  said  the  baronet,  with  his  eyes  on 
D'Antons,  "  go  back  to  your  room,  my  daughter, 
and  make  a  prayer  for  this  fellow's  soul.  It  will 
soon  stand  in  need  of  a  petition  for  God's  mercy." 

The  girl  went  softly  back  and  closed  the  door, 
in  an  effort  to  shut  out  the  rasping  and  metallic 
striking  of  the  blades.  She  prayed,  but  for  strength 
to  her  father's  wrist  and  not  for  the  Frenchman's 
soul.  She  was  afraid  —  desperately  afraid.  The 
truth  of  her  father's  skill  in  French  sword-play 
had  been  kept  from  her.  To  her  he  was  but  a 
courteous,  middle-aged  gentleman  who  needed  her 
care,  and  who  had  been  maligned  and  robbed  by 
the  world  into  which  he  had  been  born.  He  was 
a  good  father.  He  had  been  a  loving  and  consid- 


146  Brothers   of  Peril 

erate  husband.  She  knelt  beside  her  bed  and  be- 
seeched  God  to  succour  him  in  this  desperate  strait. 

In  the  meantime  the  fight  went  on  in  the  outer 
room  with  more  the  air  of  a  harmless  bout  for 
practice  than  a  duel  to  the  death.  It  was  alto- 
gether a  question  of  point  and  point,  in  the  Con- 
tinental manner,  perfectly  free  from  the  swinging 
attack  and  clanging  defence  of  the  English  style. 
The  combatants  were  cool,  to  judge  by  appearances. 
Neither  seemed  in  any  hurry.  The  thrusts  and 
lunges,  though  in  fact  as  quick  as  thought,  were 
delivered  with  a  manner  suggestive  of  elegant  lei- 
sure. 

"  I  believe  you  have  the  advantage  of  me  by 
about  three  inches  of  steel,"  remarked  the  baronet, 
diverting  a  lightning  thrust  from  its  intended 
course. 

"  A  chance  of  the  game,"  replied  D'Antons, 
smiling  grimly. 

Just  then  the  baronet's  foot  slipped  on  the  edge 
of  a  book  of  verses  which  Mistress  Beatrix  .had 
left  on  the  floor.  For  a  second  he  was  swerved 
from  his  balance;  and,  when  he  recovered,  it  was 
to  feel  the  warm  blood  running  down  his  breast 
from  a  slight  incision  in  his  left  shoulder.  But 
his  recovery  was  as  masterly  as  it  was  swift,  and 
the  Frenchman  found  himself  more  severely  pressed 


The  Cloven   Hoof  147 

than  before,  despite  the  advantage  he  possessed  in 
the  superior  length  of  his  sword.  The  little  wound 
counted  for  nothing. 

Just  what  the  outcome  of  the  fight  would  have 
been,  if  an  untimely  interruption  in  the  person  of 
Maggie  Stone  had  not  intervened,  it  is  hard  to  say. 
Perhaps  D'Antons'  youth  would  have  claimed  the 
victory  in  the  long  run,  or  perhaps  the  baronet's 
excellent  composure.  In  skill  they  were  nicely 
matched,  though  the  Englishman  displayed  supe- 
riority enough  to  even  the  difference  in  the  length 
of  the  blades.  But  why  take  time  for  idle  sur- 
mises? Maggie  Stone,  looking  in,  all  unheeded, 
at  the  open  door,  saw  her  beloved  master  engaged 
in  a  desperate  combat  with  a  person  whom  she 
despised  as  well  as  feared.  She  saw  the  sodden 
stain  of  blood  on  her  master's  doublet.  In  her  hand 
she  held  a  skillet  which  she  had  just  borrowed 
from  Dame  Trigget.  Without  waiting  to  announce 
herself,  she  rushed  into  the  room  and  dealt  Cap- 
tain d'Antons  a  resounding  whack  on  the  head 
with  the  iron  bowl  of  the  utensil.  The  long  sword 
fell  from  the  benumbed  fingers  and  clanged  on  the 
floor.  With  a  low,  guttural  cry,  the  Frenchman 
followed  it,  and  sprawled,  unconscious,  at  the  feet 
of  the  surprised  and  indignant  baronet. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE   CONFIDENCE  OF   YOUTH 

MASTER  KINGSWELL  and  his  party  returned  from 
their  daring  reconnoitre  early  in  the  afternoon. 
They  had  not  met  with  the  enemy,  though  they 
had  found  the  camp  and  torn  down  the  temporary 
lodges.  After  that  they  had  followed  the  broad 
trail  of  the  retreat  for  several  miles,  and  had  dis- 
charged the  cannon  twice  into  the  inscrutable 
woods.  Their  daring  had  been  rewarded  by  the 
capture  of  about  two  hundred  pounds  of  smoked 
salmon  and  dried  venison. 

Both  Kingswell  and  William  Trigget  were  un- 
able to  account  for  the  fact  that  the  savages  had 
not  attacked  them  in  the  cover  of  the  woods.  In 
reality  they  owed  their  bloodless  victory  to  the 
presence  of  the  little  cannon.  That  third  and  last 
discharge  of  slugs,  on  the  day  of  the  big  fight, 
had  killed  three  of  the  braves,  wounded  five  more, 
and  inspired  an  hysterical  terror  in  the  hearts  of 

the  rest.     But  for  that,  the  hidden  enemy  would 

148 


The  Confidence  of  Youth          149 

not  have  been  content  with  playing  a  waiting  game 
and  with  the  attempted  killing  of  one  man  each 
night;  and  neither  would  they  have  retired,  so 
undemonstratively,  before  the  advance  of  the  five. 
But,  despite  their  fear  of  the  cannon,  they  had  no 
intention  of  giving  up  the  siege  of  the  fort.  They 
placed  trust  in  the  darkness  of  night  and  their  own 
cunning. 

Kingswell  and'  the  elder  Trigget  were  drawn 
aside  by  Sir  Ralph.  The  baronet  looked  less  care- 
haunted  than  he  had  for  years. 

"  D'Antons  and  I  have  broken  our  truce,"  he 
whispered,  "  and  behold,  the  heavens  have  not 
fallen,  —  nor  even  the  poor  defences  of  this  planta- 
tion." He  smiled  cheerfully.  "  The  great  captain 
alone  has  come  to  grief,"  he  added.  "  Maggie 
Stone  saved  him  from  my  hand  by  felling  him  her- 
self with  some  sort  of  stew-pan.  I  was  frantically 
angry  at  the  time,  but  am  glad  now  that  I  did  not 
have  to  kill  the  rogue." 

"  Such  cattle  are  better  dead,  sir,"  remarked 
Trigget,  coolly. 

"  I  grant  you  that,  my  good  William,"  replied 
Sir  Ralph,  "  but  he  is  harmless  as  a  new-born  babe, 
after  all  —  and  we'll  see  that  he  remains  so." 

Then  he  told  them  the  story  of  the  duel,  and  of 
what  had  led  to  it.  Kingswell  flushed  and  paled. 


150  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  God's  mercy !  "  he  cried,  "  but  I  would  I  had 
been  in  your  boots,  sir." 

"  You'd  have  died  in  them,  more  than  likely," 
replied  the  baronet,  laying  a  hand  on  the  other's 
shoulder.  "  D'Antons  has  a  rare  knowledge  of 
swordsmanship,  and  eye  and  wrist  to  back  it  with." 

"  Even  so,"  replied  Kingswell,  "  it  would  have 
been  —  it  would  have  been  a  pleasure  to  die  in 
such  a  cause."  He  blushed,  and  hurriedly  added, 
"  But  I  doubt  if  he'd  have  killed  me,  for  all  his 
gimcrackery  and  side-stepping.  I've  seen  such  gen- 
try hopping  and  poking  for  hours,  when  one  good 
cut  from  the  shoulder  would  have  ended  their 
tricks." 

The  baronet  smiled  kindly,  though  with  a  tinge 
of  sadness.  "  Ah,  what  a  fine  thing  is  the  heart 
of  youth,"  he  said,  "  and  the  confidence  of  youth. 
I  even  bow  to  the  ignorance  of  youth.  But,  my 
dear  boy,  valour  and  confidence  are  not  more  than 
half  the  battle,  after  all.  The  edge  is  a  fine  thing, 
and  has  spilled  a  deal  of  blood  since  the  hammer- 
ing of  the  first  sword;  but  the  point  becomes  no 
less  deadly  simply  because  one  stout  young  Eng- 
lishman is  ignorant  of  its  potency.  Lad,  if  it  were 
not  that  I  have  won  the  distinction  —  beside  many 
a  less  enviable  one  —  of  being  the  best  swordsman 
in  England,  I  could  not  have  withstood  D'Antons' 


The  Confidence  of  Youth          151 

play  for  long  enough  to  make  sure  of  the  colour 
of  his  eyes." 

Kingswell  felt  like  a  fool,  and  did  not  know 
which  way  to  turn  his  abashed  countenance.  Both 
Sir  Ralph  and  Trigget  felt  sorry  for  him. 

"  But  I  can  assure  you,  Bernard,"  said  the  former, 
"  that,  if  it  came  to  a  matter  of  cutlasses,  neither 
the  Frenchman  nor  I  would  stand  up  for  long 
against  either  you  or  Trigget." 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  replied  Kingswell, 
staring  over  the  baronet's  shoulder  at  nothing  in 
particular,  "  but  I  haven't  a  doubt  that  even  Maggie 
Stone,  with  her  stew-pan,  would  be  more  than  a 
match  for  me." 

William  Trigget  laughed  boisterously  at  that. 
"  We  must  ease  the  young  gentleman's  temper,  sir," 
he  said  to  the  baronet.  "  I  have  a  pair  of  single- 
sticks." 

"  Get  them,"  said  the  baronet.  He  slipped  his 
hand  under  Kingswell's  arm  and  led  him  into  the 
cabin.  Beatrix  welcomed  him  cordially,  with  a  shy 
compliment  to  his  bravery  thrown  in.  The  youth 
immediately  felt  better  in  his  pride. 

"  Say  nothing  of  D'Antons,  or  the  duel,"  Sir 
Ralph  whispered  in  his  ear.  "  He  is  safe  in  his 
own  bed,  being  nursed  conscientiously,  if  not  over- 
tenderly,  by  Maggie  Stone." 


152  Brothers   of  Peril 

Kingswell  seated  himself  beside  Mistress  Beatrix 
on  the  bench  by  the  fire.  He  noticed  that  she  had 
been  weeping.  Her  eyes  seemed  all  the  brighter 
for  it.  He  gave  her  a  detailed  account  of  the  brief 
expedition  from  which  he  had  just  returned.  He 
told  of  the  cluster  of  lodges,  the  cooking-fires  still 
burning,  the  utensils  and  food  scattered  about,  and 
not  a  human  being  in  sight. 

"  And  what  if  you  had  seen  the  savages  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Surely,  four  Englishmen  and  a  lad  could 
do  nothing  against  such  a  host?" 

"  We  would  have  fallen  in  the  first  flight  of 
arrows,"  replied  Kingswell. 

"  Then  why  did  you  risk  it  ?  " 

The  young  man  shook  his  head  and  laughed. 
"  Some  one  must  take  risks,"  he  said,  "  else  all 
warfare  would  come  to  a  standstill." 

The  girl  was  looking  down  at  her  hands,  and 
reflectively  twisting  a  jewelled  ring  around  and 
around  on  one  slim  finger.  "  And  I  wish  it  would 
with  all  my  heart,"  she  sighed.  "  Warfare  and 
bloodshed  —  they  are  the  devil's  inventions,  and 
strike  innocent  and  guilty  alike." 

"  Nay,"  replied  Kingswell,  "  there  is  more  harm 
done  to  the  innocent  in  courts  and  fine  assemblies, 
and  at  the  sheltered  card-tables,  than  on  all  the 
battle-fields  of  the  world.  War  is  a  good  surgeon, 


The  Confidence  of  Youth         153 

and,  if  he  sometimes  lets  the  good  blood  with  the 
bad,  why,  that's  just  a  risk  we  must  accept." 

Beatrix  raised  a  flushed  face,  and  eyed  him 
squarely.  "  You  preach  like  a  Puritan,"  she  said, 
"  with  your  condemnation  of  courts  and  play. 
You  should  give  my  father  the  benefit  of  some  of 
your  wisdom).  His  friends  have  all  been  generous 
with  such  help." 

Kingswell  bit  his  lip,  and  for  an  awkward  min- 
ute studied  the  toes  of  his  moccasins.  Presently 
he  looked  up. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said. 

Her  glance  softened. 

"  I  am  as  ignorant  of  battle-fields  as  I  am  of 
courts,"  he  added.  "  I  am  ignorant  of  everything." 

His  voice  was  low  and  bitter.  Beatrix  laughed 
softly. 

"  Pray  do  not  take  it  so  much  to  heart,"  she  said. 
"  Nothing  is  so  easily  mended  as  ignorance." 

He  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  Sir  Ralph  to  give  me  lessons 
in  French  sword-play,"  he  said.  "  Is  there  nothing 
that  you  would  teach  me?" 

"  Embroidery,"  she  replied,  "  and  how  to  brew 
a  Madeira  punch." 

At  that  moment  the  baronet  opened  the  door 
and  admitted  William  Trigget.  The  master  mari- 


154  Brothers   of  Peril 

ner  carried  a  pair  of  stout  oak  sticks  with  basket- 
work  guards  under  his  arm. 

"  Does  your  education  commence  so  soon  ?  "  in- 
quired Beatrix  of  Kingswell. 

"  Somebody's  does,"  he  replied,  with  a  return  of 
his  old  confidence.  With  the  lady's  permission  and 
Sir  Ralph's  assistance,  Trigget  and  Kingswell 
cleared  the  middle  of  the  floor  of  rugs  and  the 
table.  They  removed  their  outer  coats.  Trigget 
was  the  taller,  as  well  as  the  heavier,  of  the  two. 
Without  further  preliminaries,  they  fell  on,  and  the 
dry  whacking  of  the  sticks  against  one  another, 
varied  occasionally  by  the  muffled  thud  of  wood 
against  cloth,  filled  the  cabin.  It  was  a  fine  display 
of  the  English  style  —  slash,  cut,  and  guard,  with 
never  a  side-step  nor  retreat.  After  ten  minutes 
of  it,  Trigget  cried  "  enough,"  and  stumbled  out 
of  the  danger  zone.  His  right  arm  was  numb. 
His  shoulders  and  sides  ached,  and  his  head  swam; 
Kingswell  was  without  a  touch. 

Neither  Beatrix  nor  Sir  Ralph,  nor  yet  Trigget, 
for  that  matter,  concealed  their  astonishment  at 
the  result  of  the  bout.  "  And  now,  sir,"  said  Kings- 
well,  "  I  should  like  a  lesson  in  the  other  style." 

The  baronet  took  down  a  pair  of  light,  edgeless 
blades  with  blunted  points.  After  a  few  words 
as  to  the  manner  of  standing,  they  crossed  the  lithe 


The   Confidence   of  Youth         155 

weapons.  In  a  second  Kingswell's  was  jerked  from 
his  hand  and  sent  bounding  across  the  room.  He 
recovered  it  without  a  word  and  returned  to  the 
combat.  By  this  time  the  light  was  failing.  After 
about  a  dozen  passes,  he  was  again  disarmed.  His 
gray  eyes  danced,  and  he  laughed  gaily  as  he  picked 
up  his  weapon. 

"  I  see  the  way  of  that  trick,"  he  said. 

He  returned  to  the  one-sided  engagement  with, 
if  possible,  more  energy  and  eagerness  than  before. 
Already  he  had  the  attitude  and  stamping  manner 
of  attack  to  perfection.  Sir  Ralph  tested  his  de- 
fence again  and  again  without  slipping  through. 
Three  times  he  tried  the  circular,  twisting  stroke 
with  which  he  had  disarmed  the  novice  before  with- 
out success.  Wondering,  and  slightly  irritated,  he 
put  out  fresh  efforts,  and  forgot  all  about  his  de- 
fence. The  blades  rasped,  and  rang,  and  whis- 
pered. The  blunted  point  was  at  Kingswell's 
breast,  at  his  throat,  at  his  eyes;  but  it  never 
touched.  And,  just  as  Mistress  Beatrix  was  about 
to  bid  the  combatants  cease  their  exertions,  because 
of  the  gathering  dusk,  Kingswell's  point  touched  the 
insignificant  but  painful  wound  on  the  baronet's 
shoulder.  With  an  exclamation,  in  which  disgust, 
pain,  and  amusement  were  queerly  blended,  Sir 
Ralph  dropped  his  foil  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

EVENTS   AND  REFLECTIONS 

CAPTAIN  PIERRE  D'ANTONS'  injury  kept  him  in- 
doors for  ten  days.  During  that  time  he  saw 
nobody  but  Maggie  Stone,  Bernard  Kingswell,  and 
Ouenwa.  Kingswell  could  not  help  feeling  sorry 
for  him,  in  spite  of  the  enmity  and  distrust  in  his 
heart.  D'Antons  made  no  mention  of  how  he  came 
by  his  cut  head  to  the  young  Englishman.  He 
knew  that  the  other  knew  —  and  sometimes  he  won- 
dered how  much.  He  accepted  such  attentions  at 
Kingswell's  hand  as  any  fair-hearted  man  will  make 
to  any  invalid,  with  what  seemed  gratitude  and 
humility.  But  under  the  mask  his  blood  was  rag- 
ing. If  his  hand  trembled  while  receiving  a  glass 
of  water  from  the  Englishman,  it  was  as  much 
from  the  effort  of  restraining  an  outburst  of  hate 
as  from  weakness.  Kingswell,  clear-sighted  by 
now,  suspected  the  real  state  of  the  other's  feel- 
ings. 

During  the  days  of  D'Antons'  inactivity,  the 
156 


Events   and   Reflections  157 

Beothics  made  three  night  attacks  on  the  fort. 
Two  were  repetitions  of  the  one-man  demonstra- 
tions of  cunning,  in  which  Clotworthy  had  met  his 
death  and  young  Trigget  had  received  the  cut  on 
his  arm.  Happily  both  had  failed.  The  third  was 
an  attack  in  force,  made  in  that  darkest  hour  just 
before  the  first  stirrings  of  dawn.  By  good  for- 
tune, both  William  Trigget  and  Kingswell  were 
dressed  and  about  at  the  time  of  the  first  alarm. 
They  both  ran  to  the  gun-platform,  and  there  found 
Tom  Bent  desperately  engaged  with  two  savages, 
who  had  scaled  the  stockade  over  the  massed  shoul- 
ders of  their  fellows.  The  intruders  were  speedily 
hurled  backward,  they  and  a  portion  of  the  breast- 
works falling  on  the  devoted  heads  below.  At  the 
moment,  Dame  Trigget  puffed  valiantly  up  the 
ladder  and  handed  a  torch  to  her  husband.  In  a 
second  the  coverings  were  pulled  from  the  guns. 
The  muzzles  of  the  little  weapons  were  declined 
as  far  as  they  would  go,  and  the  fuses  were  ignited. 
Comprehending  the  trend  of  affairs,  some  of  the 
enemy  let  fly  their  arrows  at  the  little  group  in  the 
torch's  illumination.  Both  William  Trigget  and 
Tom  Bent  were  hit,  and  fell  to  their  knees.  In 
the  same  instant  of  time  the  guns  belched  their 
flame  and  screaming  missiles  into  the  wavering 
mass  of  savages.  A  yell  of  terror  and  pain,  made 


158  Brothers  of  Peril 

up  of  many  individual  cries,  followed  the  reports 
of  the  guns  like  an  echo. 

But  along  the  opposite  stockade,  things  were  not 
going  so  well  for  the  settlers.  About  a  dozen  of 
the  enemy  had  gained  foothold  on  the  roof  of  the 
storehouse,  and  from  there  had  jumped  into  the 
yard,  driving  Peter  Harding  before  them.  They 
were  immediately  engaged  by  the  Donnellys. 
Torches  and  lanterns  glowed  and  swung  about  the 
edges  of  the  conflict.  Matters  were  looking  serious 
for  the  defenders  (who  by  that  time  were  joined 
by  Sir  Ralph,  Ouenwa,  and  the  redoubtable  Mag- 
gie Stone)  when  the  discharge  of  artillery  across 
the  square  turned  the  courage  of  the  attackers  to 
water,  and  their  victory  to  defeat.  Six  of  them 
were  cut  down  while  endeavouring  to  escape  by 
way  of  the  ladder  against  the  wall  of  the  store- 
house. The  rest  got  away,  but  none  of  them  un- 
scathed. With  that  the  fight  ended,  though  the 
defenders  kept  to  their  posts  until  broad  daylight. 

In  the  morning  it  was  discovered  that  one  of  the 
six  warriors  who  remained  within  the  fort  was 
still  alive.  Sir  Ralph  had  him  carried  to  D'Antons' 
cabin,  and  his  wounds  attended  to.  They  were 
not  of  a  serious  nature.  Black  Feather,  who  was 
a  convalescent  by  now,  recognized  a  bitter  enemy 
in  the  disabled  captive.  He  was  for  despatching 


Events   and   Reflections  159 

him  straightway,  recalling  the  bitter  days  of  his 
slavery  and  the  loss  of  wife  and  children.  He 
was  dragged  away  by  Kingswell,  and  Ouenwa  re- 
monstrated with  him  at  some  length. 

The  little  garrison  had  suffered  in  the  brief  en- 
gagement. William  Trigget  had  halted  three  ar- 
rows with  his  big  body.  Only  one  had  reached  the 
flesh,  thanks  to  his  thick  garments  of  wool  and 
hide;  but  that  one  had  cut  deep  into  the  muscles 
of  his  chest,  and  the  others  had  bruised  his  ribs. 
Tom  Bent  was  more  seriously  injured,  with  a  gap- 
ing slash  in  the  side  of  his  neck.  Young  Peter 
Harding  was  laid  on  his  back  with  a  cracked  rib, 
dealt  him  by  a  stone-headed  axe,  and  seemed  in  a 
fair  way  to  remain  on  the  sick-list  for  some  time 
to  come. 

The  dead  Beothics  were  carried  out  and  buried 
in  a  shallow  grave  near  the  honest  Clotworthy's 
desolate  resting-place. 

It  was  evident,  from  the  smoke  above  the  woods, 
that  the  enemy  were  still  maintaining  the  siege, 
and  at  even  closer  range  than  before.  The  con- 
tinual sight  of  that  evidence  of  their  presence,  and 
the  idleness  due  to  confinement  within  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  of  the  stockade,  began  to  tell  on  the 
spirits  of  the  settlers.  It  became  a  matter  of  dif- 
ficulty to  forget  the  wounded  men  in  such  restricted 


160  Brothers  of  Peril 

quarters.  Bandages  and  salves,  gruels  and  plasters, 
seemed  to  pervade  every  corner.  Every  one  who 
was  not  an  invalid  was  a  nurse.  In  addition,  the 
lack  of  fresh  meat  was  beginning  to  be  felt.  Sir 
Ralph,  who  had  seemed  more  cheerful  just  after 
his  affair  with  D'Antons,  was  fallen  back  on  his 
black  moods.  Mistress  Beatrix's  cheeks  and  eyes 
were  losing  something  of  their  radiance,  though 
she  carried  herself  bravely  and  cheerfully. 

Master  Kingswell,  who  had  a  knack  with  ban- 
dages and  such,  found  his  time  fully  occupied.  He 
inspected  all  the  wounded  twice  a  day,  and  he  and 
Ouenwa  took  entire  charge  of  D'Antons  and  the 
captured  Beothic.  His  only  recreation  was  a  few 
hours  of  each  afternoon  or  evening  spent  with  the 
Westleighs.  He  and  the  baronet  fenced,  if  the  visit 
happened  to  be  paid  during  the  day;  if  in  the 
evening,  they  sometimes  played  chess,  or,  better  still, 
the  baronet  paced  the  room  in  uneasy  meditation, 
and  the  youth  and  the  maiden  bent  their  young 
heads  above  the  pieces  of  carved  ivory. 

Behind  the  girl's  laughter  and  hospitality,  Kings- 
well  detected  an  aloofness  toward  him  that  had  not 
been  noticeable  during  the  first  days  of  their  ac- 
quaintance. The  thing  was  very  fine  —  so  fine  that 
it  was  scarcely  a  matter  of  attitude  or  manner. 
One  of  duller  perception  would  have  missed  it  alto- 


Events   and    Reflections  161 

gather.  It  was  in  no  wise  a  physical  aloofness,  save 
in  a  certain  reservation  in  the  glance  of  the  eye 
and  the  softer  notes  of  the  voice.  But  it  worried 
the  young  man.  He  felt  that  he  had  failed  in  some- 
thing —  that  she  had  set  a  standard  for  him,  and 
that  he  had  not  risen  to  it.  With  native  shrewd- 
ness, he  suspected  that  she  considered  him  crude 
and  conceited.  He  knew  that  she  considered  him 
brave,  and  that  she  admired  his  courage;  but  he 
was  equally  sure  that  his  prowess  with  the  single- 
sticks against  Trigget,  and  his  increasing  dexter- 
ity with  the  rapier,  did  not  tell  in  his  favour  in 
her  eyes.  "  Women  are  evidently  as  unreasonable 
as  the  poets  depict  them,"  he  decided,  and  tried 
to  acquire  a  modest  demeanour.  But  the  ability 
to  do  so  had  not  been  born  in  him,  and  no  matter 
how  low  and  self-abasing  his  speech,  pride  shone 
in  his  clear  eyes  and  self-confidence  was  in  the  car- 
riage of  head  and  shoulders. 

The  baronet's  attitude  toward  Master  Kingswell 
became  more  affectionate  every  day.  He  recog- 
nized the  sterling  qualities  in  the  youth,  —  the  hon- 
esty, courage,  and  loyalty,  as  well  as  the  physical 
and  mental  gifts  of  quick  eye  and  wrist  and  clear 
brain.  He  derived  no  little  comfort  from  his  pres- 
ence in  the  fort.  He  felt  that  in  this  golden-haired 
son  of  the  Bristol  merchant-knight  his  daughter 


1 62  Brothers  of  Peril 

had  a  second  guardian.  He  knew  that  the  Kings- 
well  blood,  though  not  noble  by  the  rating  of  the 
College  of  Heralds,  was  to  be  depended  on  as  surely 
as  any  in  England.  In  happier  times  he  had  known 
and  enjoyed  a  certain  amount  of  familiarity  with 
the  elder  Kingswell,  and  had  found  the  broad- 
minded  merchant's  heart  as  sound  as  his  self-im- 
ported wines.  He  remembered  the  wife,  too,  as 
a  person  of  distinction  and  kindliness. 

For  his  own  part,  the  baronet  realized  more 
surely,  with  the  passing  of  each  narrow  day,  that 
life  offered  no  further  allurement  to  him.  The 
slight  exhilaration  that  had  followed  the  defiance 
and  defeat  of  D'Antons  was  of  no  more  lasting 
a  quality  than  the  flavour  of  a  vintage.  The  French- 
man was  harmless,  poor  devil,  like  the  rest  of  them ; 
and  in  as  fair  a  way  as  himself  to  leave  his  bones 
in  the  wilderness.  Yes,  he  felt  a  twinge  of  pity 
for  him!  He  could  understand  that,  to  an  adven- 
turer like  D'Antons,  unrequited  love  was  the  very 
devil,  —  worse,  perhaps,  than. the  fever  of  the  gam- 
ing-table. But  of  course  he  felt  no  regret  for 
having  put  an  end  (as  he  believed)  to  the  fellow's 
audacious  suit.  His  regret  —  if,  indeed,  he  enter- 
tained any  concerning  so  recent  an  event  in  his 
career  —  was  that  he  had  not  pricked  the  bucca- 
neer's bubble  of  false  power  months  before  —  de- 


Events   and    Reflections  163 

spite  the  promise  he  had  made  him.  But  as  things 
had  turned  out,  —  as  Time  had  dealt  the  cards, 
to  use  his  own  words,  —  the  other's  behaviour  had 
allowed  him  to  strike  without  too  flagrant  a  breach 
of  his  word  of  honour.  He  was  thankful  for  that. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

TWO   OF   A   KIND 

WHEN  Pierre  d'Antons  was  able  to  move  about 
again,  he  found  himself  shunned,  without  disguise, 
by  every  one  of  the  inmates  of  the  fort  save  Ber- 
nard Kingswell.  The  West  Country  sailors,  no 
longer  under  orders  to  treat  him  with  respect  and 
obedience,  simply  grunted  inaudibly  and  turned 
their  backs  when  he  addressed  them.  Of  course, 
the  door  of  Sir  Ralph's  habitation  was  closed 
against  him.  He  spent  almost  all  his  time  in  his 
own  cabin,  with  the  captured  and  slowly  conva- 
lescing Beothic  for  companion.  He  read  a  great 
deal,  and  thought  more.  Now  and  again,  in  a  fit 
of  chagrin,  he  would  stamp  about  the  room,  curs- 
ing, crying  out  for  a  chance  of  revenge,  with 
clinched  hands  uplifted.  During  such  paroxysms, 
the  Beothic  would  watch  him  closely,  with  under- 
standing in  his  gaze.  The  savage  was  no  linguist; 
but  hate  burns  the  same  signals  in  eyes  of  every 

nationality. 

164 


Two   of  a   Kind  165 

D'Antons  continued  to  suffer  from  his  infatu- 
ation for  Mistress  Westleigh.  The  blow  of  the 
skillet  had  changed  nothing  of  that.  Whatever  his 
passion  lacked  in  the  higher  attributes  of  love,  it 
lacked  nothing  in  vitality.  It  was  a  madness.  It 
was  a  bitter  desire.  How  gladly  he  would  risk 
death,  fighting  for  her  —  and  yet  he  would  not 
have  hesitated  a  moment  about  killing  her  happi- 
ness, to  win  his  own,  had  an.  opportunity  offered. 
Self-sacrifice,  worshipful  devotion,  and  tenderness 
were  things  apart  from  what  he  considered  his  love 
for  the  beautiful  English  girl. 

In  this  state  of  mind  he  built  a  hundred  wild 
dreams  of  carrying  her  away,  and  of  ultimately 
imprisoning  her,  should  she  still  be  averse  to  his 
love,  in  a  Southern  stronghold.  Then  a  realiza- 
tion of  his  position  would  come  over -him  and  set 
him  stamping  and  raving.  To  Kingswell,  despite 
the  fire  in  his  heart,  he  showed  a  contrite  and 
friendly  exterior.  He  wondered  if  he  could  not 
turn  the  young  man  to  some  use.  He  gave  the 
matter  his  attention. 

One  evening  D'Antons  told  a  plaintive  story  to 
Kingswell.  All  through  it  the  Englishman  was 
itching  to  be  gone;  for  he  spent  no  more  of  his 
time  than  was  absolutely  necessary  under  the 
Frenchman's  roof.  But  the  narrator  held  him  with 


1 66  Brothers   of  Peril 

a  mournful  eye.  The  tale  was  an  alleged  history 
of  Pierre  d'Antons'  youth.  It  dealt  with  a  great 
family  that  had  fallen  upon  lean  years;  with  a 
ruinous  chateau,  a  proud  and  studious  father,  and 
a  saintly  mother;  with  a  boyhood  of  noble  dreams 
and  few  pleasures;  with  a  youth  of  hard  and  hon- 
ourable soldiering  wherever  the  banners  of  France 
led  the  way;  and  with  an  early  manhood  of  high 
adventure  and  achievement  in  the  Western  colonies. 

Kingswell  listened  coldly,  though  the  other's 
voice  fairly  trembled  with  emotion.  He  believed 
no  more  of  the  tale  than  if  he  had  already  heard 
the  truth  of  the  matter  —  which  was,  in  plain 
English,  that  D'Antons  was  the  bastard  of  a  black- 
leg nobleman  by  a  Spanish  dancer;  that  he  had 
spent  his  youth  as  a  pot-boy  on  French  ships,  and 
had  won,  by  courage  and  cunning,  to  the  position 
of  a  captain  of  buccaneers  in  early  manhood.  The 
achievements  in  the  Western  colonies  had  been 
matters  of  the  wrecking  and  plundering  of  what 
others  had  built ;  the  high  adventures  —  God  spare 
me  the  telling  of  them! 

After  Kingswell  left  him,  the  pirate  fell  into  one 
of  his  reddest  moods.  He  was  sure  that  the  pink- 
cheeked  youth  had  not  believed  a  word  of  his  story 
—  had  been  laughing  up  his  sleeve  at  the  most 
touching  passages.  He  was  sorry  that  he  had  not 


Two   of  a  Kind  167 

twisted  the  lad's  neck  instead  of  concluding  the 
narrative.  It  was  a  sheer  waste  of  breath,  this 
artistic  lying  to  such  a  pig's  head!  He  jumped 
to  his  feet,  with  a  violence  that  almost  startled  the 
Beothic  to  outcry,  and  flung  himself  about  the  room 
like  a  madman.  He  kicked  the  stolid  logs  of  the 
walls.  He  knocked  the  few  pieces  of  furniture  out 
of  his  erratic  course,  and  spilled  his  books  and  pa- 
pers, quills  and  ink,  to  the  floor:  all  this  without 
any  ringing  oaths  or  blistering  curses.  His  rage 
worked  inward,  as  bodily  wounds  sometimes  bleed. 
It  played  the  devil  with  his  limbs,  his  features,  and 
his  hands,  but  found  no  ease  in  articulation.  A 
trickle  of  blood  ran  down  his  chin,  from  where  he 
had  set  a  tooth  into  his  lower  lip.  Withal,  he  was 
such  a  daunting  spectacle  that  Red  Cloud,  the  Beo- 
thic, crouched  fearfully  against  the  wall,  and  fol- 
lowed his  movements  with  wide  eyes;  for,  though 
a  mighty  warrior  in  his  own  estimation,  Red  Cloud 
was  a  craven  at  heart. 

Presently  the  tumult  of  the  madness  ceased,  and 
the  victim  of  it  sank  languidly  into  a  chair  beside 
the  Beothic's  couch.  He  groaned  and  shivered. 
For  awhile  he  sat  limp,  with  his  thin  face  hidden 
between  his  hands.  Looking  up,  his  eyes  met  the 
eyes  of  the  native.  In  their  furtive  regard,  he  read 
that  which  suggested  a  new  move.  Though,  owing 


1 68  Brothers  of  Peril 

to  an  inborn  caution,  he  had  never  displayed  a 
knowledge  of  the  Beothic  language  to  his  fellow 
settlers,  and  had  refrained  from  using  any  words 
of  it  before  Ouenwa,  he  had  picked  up  a  fair  idea 
of  it  during  his  sojourn  at  Fort  Beatrix.  Hith- 
erto he  had  paid  but  scant  attention  to  Red  Cloud, 
for  he  entertained  the  Spanish  attitude  of  intol- 
erance toward  uncivilized  peoples;  but  now  he 
leaned  forward  and  spoke  kindly  to  his  companion. 

It  was  late  when  Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  returned 
to  D'Antons'  cabin.  Under  the  new  order  of  things, 
Ouenwa  had  volunteered  his  services  as  assistant 
night-guard  of  the  two  prisoners  —  for  the  French- 
man was  virtually  a  prisoner.  It  was  their  custom 
to  keep  watch  turn  and  turn  about,  in  two  hours' 
vigils,  one  sleeping  while  the  other  sat  in  a  com- 
fortable chair  by  the  hearth.  Their  couch  was 
also  by  the  hearth.  This  precaution  was  taken  for 
fear  of  some  treachery  on  the  part  of  Red  Cloud. 

When  the  two  entered  the  outer  room,  the  fire 
was  burning  brightly,  and  by  its  ruddy  light  they 
saw  the  muffled  figure  of  the  Beothic,  face  to  the 
wall,  in  the  far  corner.  They  shot  the  bar  of  the 
door.  When  the  morning  was  well  advanced,  they 
opened  windows  and  door,  and  replenished  the  fire. 
Kingswell  drew  aside  the  curtain  between  the  rooms, 
and  looked  in  to  see  how  D'Antons  was  faring. 


Two   of  a   Kind  169 

His  fire  was  out  and  he  was  still  abed.  Kingswell 
moved  noiselessly  across  the  floor  and  peered  close. 
What  an  awkward  figure  the  graceful  buccaneer  cut 
in  his  sleep!  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  shapeless 
shoulder.  It  encountered  nothing  but  yielding  pelts 
and  blankets.  He  dragged  the  things  to  the  floor 
frantically.  His  exclamation  brought  Ouenwa  to 
his  side.  The  Englishman  pointed  a  finger  of  dis- 
may at  the  demolished  dummy. 

"  Tricked !  "  he  cried.  "  Rip  me,  but  what  a  fine 
jailer  I  am !  "  They  rushed  back  to  the  other  room 
and  investigated  the  figure  on  the  Beothic's  couch. 
That,  too,  proved  to  be  a  shape  of  rolled  furs  and 
bedding.  Red  Cloud  also  had  faded  away. 

News  of  the  disappearance  of  D'Antons  and  the 
savage  went  through  the  fort  like  an  electric  cur- 
rent. The  settlers  were  more  interested  and  sur- 
prised over  it  than  concerned.  Even  the  invalids 
sat  up  and  conjectured  on  the  captain's  object  in 
fleeing  to  the  outer  wilderness,  and  the  doubtful  but 
inevitable  reception  by  the  natives.  They  could 
hardly  bring  themselves  to  the  belief  that  he  and 
Red  Cloud  had  gone  as  fellow  conspirators,  remem- 
bering the  haughty  Frenchman's  bearing  toward  the 
aborigines  with  whom  he  had  traded  on  occasions. 

William  Trigget  shook  his  head  when  he  heard 
the  story,  and  rated  the  men  who  had  been  on  duty 


170  Brothers  of  Peril 

along  the  palisade  with  unsparing  frankness.  Sir 
Ralph  looked  worried,  and  Mistress  Beatrix  looked 
surprised. 

"  It  seems  a  very  simple  trick,"  she  murmured, 
"  to  bundle  up  a  few  blankets  into  lifelike  effigies, 
and  then  to  slip  away  while  the  jailer  is  elsewhere 
spending  a  social  evening." 

Kingswell  flushed  hotly,  and  looked  at  the  girl 
steadily;  but  he  failed  to  meet  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  they  slipped  away  while  two 
men  were  on  guard  along  the  walls,  and  while  the 
self-appointed  jailer,  who  has  not  had  four  hours' 
sleep  in  any  night  in  the  past  three  weeks,  was  play- 
ing chess  with  your  ladyship." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  no  loss  to  us,"  interposed  the 
baronet  quickly.  "  We  have  no  use  for  the  sav- 
age; and  as  to  D'Antons  —  why,  if  the  enemy  kill 
him,  it  will  save  some  one  else  the  trouble.  But  I 
cannot  help  wondering  at  him  taking  so  dangerous 
a  risk.  If  he  had  been  on  friendly  terms  with  the 
natives  at  any  time,  one  would  have  a  clue.  But 
he  always  treated  them  like  dogs." 

Kingswell  turned  a  casual  shoulder  toward  the 
lady,  and  gave  all  his  attention  to  the  baronet  and 
the  affair  of  the  Frenchman.  The  blush  of  shame 
had  gone,  leaving  his  face  unusually  pale.  His 


Two   of  a   Kind  171 

eyes,  also,  showed  a  change  —  a  chilling  from  blue 
to  gray,  with  a  surface  glitter  and  a  shadow  behind. 

"  You  may  be  sure,"  he  replied  to  Sir  Ralph, 
"  that  D'Antons  has  taken  what  he  considers  the 
lesser  risk.  I'll  wager  he  has  won  the  savage  to 
him,  hand  and  heart.  I  was  a  fool  not  to  have 
removed  Red  Cloud  to  one  of  the  other  huts." 

"  He  was-kept  to  D'Antons'  cabin  by  my  orders," 
said  the  baronet. 

"  I  had  forgotten  that,"  replied  Kingswell. 
"  Then  I  am  not  the  only  scapegrace  of  the  com- 
munity." 

The  baronet's  face  lighted  whimsically,  and  he 
smiled  at  the  young  man.  But  the  girl  did  not 
receive  the  implication  in  the  same  spirit.  She 
stared  at  the  speaker  as  if  he  were  some  surprising 
species  of  bird  that  had  flown  in  at  the  window. 

"  Such  a  remark  rings  dangerously  of  insubor- 
dination," she  exclaimed,  "  not  to  mention  the  im- 
pertinence of  it." 

Sir  Ralph  looked  at  her,  completely  puzzled,  and 
murmured  a  remonstrance.  It  is  a  wise  father  that 
knows  his  own  daughter.  Kingswell  turned  an 
expressionless  face  toward  the  fire  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  bowed  to  Sir  Ralph.  "  If  I  am  guilty 
of  impertinence,  sir,  I  humbly  crave  your  pardon," 
he  said.  "  As  to  insubordination  —  why,  I  believe 


172  Brothers  of  Peril 

there  is  nothing  to  say  on  that  head,  as  I  am  a  free 
agent;  but  I  think  you  understand,  sir,  that  I  and 
my  men  are  entirely  at  your  service,  as  we  have 
been  ever  since  the  day  we  first  accepted  the  hos- 
pitality of  Fort  Beatrix.  My  men,  at  least,  have 
not  failed  in  any  duty,  whatever  my  delinquencies." 

With  an  exclamation  of  sincere  concern,  the  bar- 
onet stepped  close  to  his  friend  and  placed  a  hand 
on  either  of  his  shoulders. 

"  Bernard  —  my  dear  lad  —  why  all  this  talk  of 
pardon,  and  duty,  and  delinquencies,  and  God 
knows  what  else?  If  you  believe  that  I  consider 
you  guilty  of  any  carelessness,  you  must  think  me 
ungrateful  indeed." 

His  voice,  his  look,  his  gesture,  all  convinced 
Kingswell  that  the  words  were  sincere,  and  so  did 
something  toward  the  mending  of  his  injured  feel- 
ings. To  the  baronet,  his  eyes  brightened  and  his 
manner  unbent.  He  took  his  departure  immediately 
after. 

Sir  Ralph  turned  to  his  daughter  as  the  door 
closed  behind  Kingswell. 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  treatment  of  him," 
he  said.  "  Surely  you  realize  that  he  is  a  friend 
—  and  friends  are  not  so  common  that  we  can 
afford  to  flout  them  at  every  turn."  He  did  not 


Two  of  a  Kind  173 

speak  angrily,  but  the  girl  saw  plainly  enough  that 
he  was  seriously  displeased. 

"  The  boy  is  so  insufferably  self-satisfied,"  she 
explained,  weakly.  "  How  indignation  would  have 
burned  within  him  had  some  one  else  allowed  the 
prisoners  to  escape." 

The  baronet  gazed  at  her  pensively  for  several 
seconds,  and  then  took  her  hand  tenderly  between 
his  own. 

"  You  do  the  brave  lad  an  injustice,  my  sweet- 
ing," he  said.  "  What  you  take  for  conceit  is  just 
youth,  and  strength,  and  fearlessness,  and  a  clean 
conscience.  He  has  nothing  of  the  braggart  in  him 
—  not  a  hint  of  it.  I  am  sorry  you  like  him  so 
little,  my  daughter,  for  he  is  a  good  lad  and  well- 
disposed  toward  us." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

BY  ADVICE   OF   BLACK   FEATHER 

FOR  a  time  after  D'Antons'  departure  into  the 
unknown,  the  little  garrison  of  Fort  Beatrix  turned 
day  into  night.  Not  a  man  indulged  in  so  much 
as  a  wink  of  sleep  between  the  hours  of  dusk  and 
dawn;  but  from  sunrise  until  afternoon  the  place 
was  as  if  it  lay  under  an  enchantment  of  slumber. 
On  the  sixth  day  after  the  flight  of  the  Frenchman 
and  Red  Cloud,  Ouenwa  approached  Kingswell 
with  a  request  to  be  allowed  to  leave  the  fort,  in 
company  with  Black  Feather.  He  told  how  Black 
Feather  was  of  the  opinion  that  many  of  the  tribes- 
men were  against  the  leadership  of  Panounia,  and 
that,  if  they  could  be  found,  it  would  be  an  easy 
matter  for  Ouenwa  to  win  their  support.  He, 
Ouenwa,  was  of  the  blood  of  the  greatest  chief  they 
had  ever  known.  They  would  gather  to  the  totem 
of  the  Bear.  Assured  of  the  friendship  of  the  Eng- 
lish people,  they  could  be  brought  to  the  rescue  of 

'74 


By   Advice   of  Black   Feather      175 

the.  settlement.  So  Black  Feather  had  told  the  tale 
to  Ouenwa,  and  so  Ouenwa  believed. 

"  And  you  would  have  to  go  with  Black 
Feather?  "  inquired  Kingswell,  none  too  cheerfully; 
for  he  looked  upon  the  lad  as  a  very  dear  younger 
brother. 

"  Truly,  my  friend-chief,  for  I  am  the  grandson 
of  Soft  Hand,"  replied  the  boy.  "  When  they  see 
me,  their  blood  will  rise  at  the  memory  of  Soft 
Hand's  murder.  I  will  talk  great  words  of  my  love 
for  the  English,  and  of  my  hatred  for  Panounia, 
and  of  the  great  trading  that  will  be  done  at  the 
fort  when  the  night-howlers  have  been  driven  away. 
Thus  we  shall  all  be  saved  —  thus  Mistress  Beatrix 
shall  escape  capture." 

At  that  Kingswell  started  and  eyed  his  compan- 
ion keenly.  "  You  think  Panounia  can  break  into 
the  fort?"  he  inquired. 

Ouenwa  smiled.  "  Hunger  can  do  it  before  the 
snow  melts,"  he  replied,  "  and  hunger  will  fight  for 
Panounia  and  the  black  captain." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  the  black  captain  ?  " 

"  He  is  with  the  night-howlers.  He  will  keep 
their  courage  warm.  He  will  struggle  many  times 
to  bring  us  'to  our  deaths  and  to  capture  the  lady. 
That  is  all  I  know." 


176  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  But  how  do  you  know  so  much,  lad  ? "  asked 
Kingswell. 

Ouenwa  looked  surprised.  "  How  could  I  know 
less,  who  dwelt  within  eyeshot  of  the  black  captain 
for  so  many  days,  and  who  have  learned  the  ways 
of  such  wolves  ?  "  he  asked,  in  his  turn.  "  You 
know  it  already  without  my  telling,  friend-chief," 
he  added. 

"  Let  us  to  Sir  Ralph  for  his  advice,"  said  the 
other. 

Master  Kingswell  had  not  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  baronet's  cabin  since  the  time  of  his  rebuff 
at  the  hands  of  Mistress  Beatrix.  Of  course  he 
had  seen  the  baronet  frequently,  and  they  had 
smoked  some  pipes  of  tobacco  together  by  the  hearth 
of  the  departed  Frenchman;  but  from  the  presence 
of  the  lady  he  had  kept  off  as  from  a  lazaretto. 
At  the  voice  of  duty,  however,  he  sought  the  bar- 
onet in  his  own  house  with  excellent  composure. 
Anger  at  the  knowledge  that  a  girl  could  hurt  him 
so  nerved  him  to  accept  the  risk  of  again  seeing  the 
displeasure  in  her  dark  eyes. 

Mistress  Beatrix  was  not  in  the  living-room  when 
they  entered.  Sir  Ralph  welcomed  them  cordially. 
Upon  hearing  Ouenwa's  and  Black  Feather's  plan 
for  winning  some  of  the  tribesmen  to  the  succour 
of  the  fort,  he  was  deeply  moved.  He  took  a  ring 


By   Advice   of  Black   Feather      177 

from  his  own  hand  and  slipped  it  over  one  of 
Ouenwa's  fingers.  He  gave  the  lad  a  fine  hunting- 
knife  for  Black  Feather,  and  a  Spanish  dagger  for 
himself.  He  told  Kingswell  to  supply  them  un- 
stintingly  from  the  store,  with  provisions  and  cloth- 
ing for  themselves  and  gifts  for  the  natives  whom 
they  hoped  to  win. 

"Tis  a  chance,"  said  he  to  Kingswell.  "A 
chance  of  our  salvation,  and  the  only  one,  as  far 
as  I  can  see." 

At  that  moment  Mistress  Beatrix  entered  the 
room.  At  sight  of  the  visitors  by  the  chimney, 
she  swept  a  grand  curtsey.  The  visitors  bowed 
low  in  return.  Her  father  advanced  and  led  her, 
with  the  manner  of  those  days,  to  his  own  chair 
beside  the  hearth.  He  told  her,  in  a  few  words, 
of  the  venture  upon  which  Ouenwa  and  Black 
Feather  intended  to  set  forth.  The  thought  of  it 
stirred  the  girl,  and  she  looked  on  Ouenwa  with 
shining  eyes. 

"  'Tis  a  deed  for  the  great  knights  of  old,"  she 
said.  "  Lad,  where  have  you  learned  your  bra- 
very?" 

Unabashed,  Ouenwa  stood  erect  before  her. 
"  Half  of  it  is  the  blood  of  my  fathers,"  he  re- 
plied, "  and  half  is  the  teaching  of  Master  Kings- 
well  —  and  half  I  gather  from  your  eyes." 


178  Brothers  of  Peril 

The  girl  flushed  with  suppressed  merriment. 
The  baronet  concealed  his  lips  with  his  hand. 
Kingswell  clutched  his  outspoken  friend  by  the 
shoulder. 

"  Brother,  you  have  named  one-half  too  many," 
he  said,  laughing,  "  so  your  reason  will  carry  more 
weight  if  you  leave  out  that  in  which  you  mention 
my  teaching.  But  come,  we  must  find  Black 
Feather,  and  make  arrangements  to  leave  as  soon 
as  dusk  falls." 

At  that  Beatrix  tightened  her  hands  on  the  arms 
of  the  chair  and  turned  a  startled  face  toward  the 
speaker.  "  Surely,  sir,  you  do  not  mean  to  leave 
us,  too!"  she  exclaimed. 

Neither  the  baronet  nor  Kingswell  were  looking 
at  her;  but  Ouenwa  saw  the  expression  of  eyes 
and  lips.  Kingswell,  however,  did  not  miss  the  note 
of  anxiety  in  the  clear  young  voice. 

"  I  do  not  go  with  them,  mistress,*'  he  said,  "  be- 
cause my  company  would  only  delay  their  move- 
ments. And  perhaps  even  spoil  their  plans.  I  am 
a  poor  woodsman  —  and  already  our  garrison  is 
none  too  heavily  manned." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  going,"  replied  the  girl, 
quietly.  "  I  am  sure  that  my  father  looks  upon 
you  as  his  right  hand,  and  that  the  men  need  you." 

Sir  Ralph  looked  at  his  daughter  with  ill-con- 


By   Advice   of  Black   Feather      179 

cealed  surprise.  Kingswell,  murmuring  polite  ac- 
knowledgment of  her  gracious  words,  strove  to 
get  a  clearer  view  of  her  half-averted  face.  He 
failed.  Ouenwa  was  the  only  one  of  the  three  who 
knew  that  the  words  were  sincere;  but  he  had  the 
advantage  of  his  superiors  in  having  caught  sight 
of  the  sudden  fear  in  the  lady's  face. 

Sir  Ralph  and  Kingswell  lowered  the  light  packs 
over  the  stockade  to  Ouenwa  and  the  big  warrior. 
When  the  figures  merged  into  the  gloom,  heading 
northward,  the  two  commanders  descended  from 
the  storehouse  and  entered  the  baronet's  cabin. 
Beatrix  was  by  the  fire,  radiant  in  fine  apparel. 

"  I  am  in  no  mood  for  chess,"  said  Sir  Ralph. 
"  The  thought  of  those  two  brave  fellows  stealing 
through  the  dark  and  cold  fidgets  me  beyond  belief." 

He  began  his  quarter-deck  pacing  of  the  floor  — 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  with  his  head  thrust 
forward  and  his  hands  gripped  behind  his  back. 

'  The  wind  is  rising,"  said  the  girl  to  Kingswell. 
"  It  will  be  bleak  in  the  forest  to-night  —  away 
from  the  fire." 

She  shivered,  and  held  her  jewelled  hands  to 
the  blaze. 

"  It  is  blowing  for  a  storm,"  replied  the  young 
man.  '  The  sky  was  clouded  over  when  they  left. 
'Tis  safer  for  them  so.  The  snow  will  cover  their 


180  Brothers  of  Peril 

trail  and,  very  likely,  will  keep  the  enemy  from 
prowling  abroad  for  a  good  many  hours  to  come." 

Mistress  Beatrix  crossed  the  room  to  a  cupboard 
in  the  wall,  and  from  it  produced  a  violin.  Kings- 
well  stood  by  the  chimney,  watching  her.  The 
baronet  continued  his  nervous  pacing  of  the  floor. 
The  girl  touched  the  strings  here  and  there  with 
skilful  fingers,  resined  the  bow,  and  then  returned 
to  the  hearth  and  stood  with  her  eyes  on  the  fire. 
Suddenly  she  looked  up  at  Kingswell.  Her  eyes 
were  as  he  had  never  seen  them  before.  They  were 
full  of  firelight  and  dream.  They  were  brighter 
than  jewels,  and  yet  dark  as  the  heart  of  a  deep 
water. 

"  Please  do  not  stand,"  she  said,  and  her  voice, 
though  free  from  any  suggestion  of  indifference, 
sounded  as  if  her  whole  being  were  far  from  that 
simple  room.  Her  gaze  returned  to  the  fire.  Kings- 
well  quietly  reseated  himself;  and  at  that  she 
nestled  her  chin  to  the  glowing  instrument  and 
drew  the  bow  lightly,  lovingly,  almost  inquiringly, 
across  the  strings.  A  whisper  of  melody  followed 
the  touch  and  sang  clearer  and  more  human  than 
any  human  voice,  and  melted  into  the  firelight. 

At  the  first  strain  of  the  music,  the  baronet  sat 
down  and  reclined  comfortably  with  his  head 
against  the  back  of  his  chair.  For  awhile  he 


By   Advice   of  Black    Feather      181 

watched  his  daughter  intently;  then  he  turned  his 
eyes  to  the  heart  of  the  fire  and  journeyed  far  in 
a  waking  dream. 

The  girl  played  on  and  on,  weaving  enchantments 
of  peace  with  the  magic  strings.  Kingswell,  lean- 
ing back  with  his  face  in  the  shadow,  could  not  look 
away  from  her.  The  minutes  drifted  by  unheeded 
behind  the  singing  of  the  violin.  The  candles  on 
the  table  flared  at  their  sockets.  The  logs  on  the 
hearth  broke,  and  the  flames  sprang  to  new  life. 
Outside  the  wind  raced  and  shouldered  along  the 
walls.  And  suddenly  the  player  stilled  her  hand, 
and,  without  a  word  to  either  of  the  men,  took  up 
one  of  the  guttering  candles  from  the  table  and 
went  quickly  to  her  own  chamber.  She  carried  the 
fiddle  with  her  against  her  young  breast,  and  the 
bow  like  a  wand  in  her  hand. 

Sir  Ralph  started  and  sat  erect  in  his  chair. 
Kingswell  got  to  his  feet  with  a  sigh,  and  lifted  his 
heavy  cloak  from  the  bench. 

"  I  must  go  the  rounds,"  he  said.  "  Good  night, 
sir." 

With  that  he  went  out  into  the  swirling  eddies 
of  the  storm.  The  baronet  sat  still  for  another 
hour.  The  music  had  uncovered  so  many  ghosts 
of  joy  and  song,  of  love  and  hate  and  shame.  It 
had  rung  upon  past  glories  and  called  up  more  re- 


1 82  Brothers  of  Peril 

cent  dishonours.  And  still  another  matter  occu- 
pied his  mind,  and  was  finally  dismissed  with  a 
smile  and  a  yawn.  It  was  that  Beatrix  had  indulged 
in  one  of  her  deliriums  of  music  in  young  Kings- 
well's  presence,  and  that  she  had  never  before  played 
in  any  mood  but  the  lightest  in  the  hearing  of  a 
stranger. 

Kings  well  paced  beside  the  sentry  at  the  drifted 
gate;  but  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  the  picture  of 
the  girl,  the  glowing  fiddle,  and  the  music  and  fire- 
light that  had  seemed  to  pulse  and  spread  together 
about  the  long  room.  Again  he  saw  the  candle 
flames  leap  high  and  waver,  as  if  lured  from  their 
tethers  by  the  crying  of  the  instrument.  But  clear- 
est of  all  was  the  player's  face.  His  heart  was 
filled  to  suffocation  at  the  memory  of  it.  Had 
other  men  seen  her  so  beautiful?  Had  other  men 
heard  her  soul  and  her  dear  heart  singing  and 
crying  from  the  strings  of  the  violin? 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE  SEEKING   OF   THE   TRIBESMEN 

OUENWA  and  Black  Feather  turned  their  faces 
from  the  little  fort  and  the  hostile  camp  beyond 
the  white  river,  and  set  bravely  forward  into  the 
darkness.  Black  Feather  led  the  way,  avoiding 
hummocks,  bending  and  twisting  through  the  cov- 
erts, crossing  the  open  glades  like  a  shadow  —  and 
all  without  any  noise  except  the  scarcely  audible 
padding  of  his  stringed  shoes.  Ouenwa  trod  close 
after.  They  had  not  gone  far  before  the  snow 
began  to  fall  and  puff  around  them  in  blinding 
clouds.  The  trees  bent  tensely  under  the  lash  of 
the  wind.  More  than  one  frost-embrittled  spire 
came  crashing  down.  Still  the  warrior  and  the  lad 
held  on  their  journey,  for  they  were  both  fresh 
and  strong,  and  eager  to  widen  the  spaces  of  wilder- 
ness between  themselves  and  the  camp  of  Panounia. 

Shortly  before  dawn  they  dug  a  trench  in  the 
snow  on  the  leeward  side  of  a  thicket  of  low  spruces, 
broke  fir-branches  for  a  bed,  built  a  fire  between 

183 


184  Brothers   of  Peril 

the  walls  of  white,  and  cooked  and  ate  a  frugal 
repast,  and  then  rolled  themselves  in  their  rugs  of 
skin  and  fell  asleep.  They  had  no  fear  that  any 
of  Panounia's  people  would  disturb  their  slumbers. 
They  lay  as  motionless  and  unknowing  as  logs  for 
several  hours.  Then  Ouenwa  turned  over  and 
yawned,  and  Black  Feather  sat  up,  wide-awake  in 
an  instant.  The  morning  was  bright  and  unclouded. 
The  white  sun  was  half-way  up  the  blue  shell  of 
the  eastern  sky.  All  around  the  new  snow  lay  in 
feathery  depths.  On  the  dark  firs  and  spruces  it 
clung  in  even  masses,  which  showed  that  the  wind 
had  died  down  long  before  the  flakes  had  ceased  to 
fall.  Ouenwa  and  his  comrade  ate  frugally  of  cold 
meat  and  bread,  swallowed  some  brandy  and  water, 
and  resumed  their  journey. 

Not  until  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  follow- 
ing their  departure  from  Fort  Beatrix  did  the  trav- 
ellers sight  the  smoke  of  a  fire.  It  was  Black 
Feather,  attaining  the  summit  of  a  ridge  a  few 
paces  ahead  of  Ouenwa,  who  caught  the  first  sight 
of  the  thin,  melting  signal  of  human  life.  It  wav- 
ered up  from  a  wood  in  a  valley  a  few  hundred  of 
yards  in  front.  On  their  right  hand  lay  the  ice- 
edged  gray  waters  of  an  arm  of  the  sea.  On  their 
left  stretched  dark  forest  and  empty  barren  to  a 


The   Seeking  of  the  Tribesmen   185 

mountainous  horizon.  In  front  lay  hope,  and  be- 
hind the  spur  of  menace. 

"  Is  there  a  village  yonder?  "  asked  Ouenwa. 

Black  Feather  replied  negatively. 

"  The  stream  is  Little  Thunder,"  he  said,  in  his 
own  language,  "  and  there  was  no  lodge  there  when 
last  I  saw  it.  We  will  approach  under  the  shelter 
of  those  spruces  in  the  hollow.  It  makes  the  jour- 
ney a  few  paces  longer,  and  perhaps  the  arrival 
twenty  times  safer." 

Ouenwa  nodded  his  sympathy  with  the  caution 
expressed  by  his  friend. 

"  But  let  us  hurry,"  he  said.  "  Remember  that 
around  the  stockade  the  black  captain  is  ever  stir- 
ring the  courage  of  the  night-howlers." 

At  last,  creeping  on  all  fours,  they  peered  from 
the  screen  of  brush  into  a  tiny  clearing  on  the 
north  bank  of  Little  Thunder.  The  stream  was  not 
ten  yards  across  at  this  point.  On  its  white  surface 
ran  several  trails  of  snow-shoes.  The  smoke  which 
had  attracted  them  to  the  place  curled  up  from  the 
apex  of  a  large,  bark-roofed  wigwam.  As  the 
travellers  watched,  an  old  woman  appeared  in  the 
doorway  of  the  lodge.  Ouenwa  recognized  her  as 
a  wise  herb-doctor  who  had  been  a  friend  and 
adviser  of  Soft  Hand.  He  whispered  the  infor- 
mation to  Black  Feather. 


1 86  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  Then  we  may  show  ourselves,"  said  the  other, 
"  for  if  this  woman  was  the  great  chief's  friend 
you  may  be  sure  that  death  has  only  strengthened 
her  loyalty.  It  is  so  with  women  —  with  the  wise 
and  the  foolish  alike.  A  man  will  stand  close  to 
his  comrade  in  the  days  of  his  glory  and  in  the 
press  of  battle;  but  it  is  the  squaw  who  keeps  the 
fallen  shield  freshly  painted  and  the  cause  of  the 
departed  ever  before  the  matters  of  the  present  day. 
A  man  must  have  the  reward  of  his  friend's  praise 
and  the  joy  of  his  companionship;  but  a  woman 
makes  a  god  of  the  departed  spirit  and  looks  for 
her  reward  beyond  the  red  gates." 

Ouenwa  had  nothing  to  say  to  his  friend's  sage 
reflections,  for  all  he  knew  of  women  was  that  a 
radiant  creature  far  back  in  Fort  Beatrix  had  his 
heart  in  thrall.  So  he  led  the  way  from  cover,  and 
down  the  bank,  in  silence. 

The  old  squaw  in  the  doorway  of  the  lodge  caught 
sight  of  them  immediately.  She  turned  into  the 
dark  interior  of  the  wigwam,  but  appeared  before 
they  were  half-way  across  the  frozen  stream,  with 
a  bow  in  her  hand  and  an  arrow  on  the  string. 
Black  Feather  and  the  lad  raised  their  right  hands, 
palms  forward,  above  their  heads,  and  continued 
to  advance.  The  old  hag  lowered  her  weapon, 
but  did  not  relax  her  attitude  of  vigilance.  Close 


The   Seeking  of  the  Tribesmen    187 

to  the  rise  of  the  bank  the  travellers  paused,  and  the 
lad  called  out  that  he  was  Ouenwa,  grandson  of 
Soft  Hand,  and  that  his  companion  was  Black 
Feather,  the  adopted  son  of  Montaw,  the  arrow- 
maker.  At  that  the  guardian  of  the  wigwam  for- 
sook her  post  and  advanced  to  meet  them. 

The  herb-doctor,  who  had  been  one  of  Soft 
Hand's  advisers,  was  not  attractive  to  the  eye.  She 
was  bent  hideously,  though  still  of  surprising  bodily 
strength.  Her  head  was  uncovered,  save  for  the 
matted  locks  of  hair  that  clung  about  it  and  fell 
over  her  ears  and  neck  like  a  wig  of  gray  tree-moss. 
Her  eyes  were  deep  and  black  and  fierce.  One 
yellow  fang  stood  like  a  sentinel  in  the  cavity  of 
her  mouth.  Her  hands  were  claws.  Her  skin  was 
no  lighter  in  hue  and  no  finer  in  texture  than  was 
the  tanned  leather  of  her  high-legged  moccasins. 
Her  garments  were  unusually  barbaric  —  lynx- 
skins  shapelessly  stitched  together  and  hung  about 
with  belts  and  charms,  and  a  great  knife  of  flint 
nearly  as  long  as  a  cutlass.  Her  corded,  scraggy 
arms  hung  naked  at  her  sides,  as  indifferent  to  the 
nip  of  the  frost  as  to  the  regard  of  strange  eyes. 

"  Child,"  she  said,  "  I  heard  that  you  were  killed 
—  that  Panounia's  men  had  slain  you  and  a  party 
of  English;  but  that  I  knew  to  be  false,  for  I 
saw  not  your  spirit  with  the  spirits  of  your  fathers. 


1 88  Brothers  of  Peril 

So  I  believed  that  you  had  crossed  the  great  salt 
water  with  the  strangers." 

Ouenwa  told  his  story,  to  which  the  old  woman 
listened  with  the  keenest  interest  and  many  nods 
of  the  head. 

"  It  is  well,"  she  said.  "  They  are  scattered  now, 
some  in  hiding,  some  sullenly  obedient  to  Panounia, 
and  some  in  captivity.  Your  need  will  bring  them 
together  and  awake  their  sleeping  courage.  I  know 
of  a  full  score  of  stout  warriors  who  will  draw  no 
bow  for  Panounia,  and  who  are  all  within  a  day's 
journey  of  this  spot,  but  sadly  scattered,  —  yea, 
scattered  in  every  little  hollow,  like  frightened 
hares." 

"  Do  you  live  in  this  great  lodge  all  by  your- 
self?" inquired  Black  Feather. 

"  My  sons  are  in  the  forest,  seeing  to  their 
snares,"  replied  the  woman,  eying  the  tall  brave 
sharply,  "  but  within  are  a  sick  woman  and  a  small 
child  who  escaped,  ten  days  ago,  from  one  of  Pa- 
nounia's  camps." 

She  stood  aside  and  motioned  them  to  enter  the 
lodge.  Ouenwa  went  ahead,  with  Black  Feather 
close  at  his  heels.  Within,  it  took  them  several 
seconds  to  adjust  their  eyes  to  the  gloom  of  smoke 
and  shadow.  Presently  they  made  out  a  couch  of 
fir-branches  and  skins  beyond  the  fire,  and  on  it 


The    Seeking  of  the  Tribesmen    189 

a  woman,  half-reclining,  with  her  arm  about  a  child. 
Both  the  woman  and  the  child  were  gazing  at  the 
visitors.  The  child  began  to  whimper. 

Black  Feather  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  sprang 
over  the  fire.  He  had  found  his  squaw  and  one  of 
his  lost  children. 

The  sickness  of  Black  Feather's  wife  was  noth- 
ing but  the  result  of  hardship  and  ill-treatment.  Al- 
ready, under  the  herb-doctor's  care,  she  was  greatly 
improved.  The  meeting  with  her  warrior  went  far 
to  complete  the  cure  of  the  old  woman's  broths 
and  soft  furs.  The  child  was  well;  but  the  woman 
knew  nothing  of  the  whereabouts  of  their  elder  off- 
spring. 

Ouenwa  and  Black  Feather  did  not  tarry  long 
at  the  lodge  beside  Little  Thunder.  With  the 
younger  of  their  aged  hostess's  sons  for  guide,  they 
set  out  that  same  day  to  find  the  hidden  warriors 
who  were  against  the  leadership  of  Panounia. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

BRAVE  DAYS  FOR  YOUNG  HEARTS 

BACK  at  Fort  Beatrix  the  time  passed  in  weary 
suspense.  The  wounded  men  recovered  slowly. 
The  enemy  remained  inactive  beyond  the  river  and 
the  dark  forest.  Only  the  haze  of  their  cooking- 
fires,  melting  against  the  sky,  told  of  their  presence. 
The  inaction  ate  into  the  courage  of  the  English 
men  and  women  like  rust.  The  boat-building  and 
the  iron-working  at  the  forge  were  carried  on  list- 
lessly, and  without  the  old-time  spurs  of  song  and 
laughter.  Even  William  Trigget  and  Tom  Bent 
displayed  sombre  faces  to  their  little  world. 

Bernard  Kingswell,  however,  found  life  eventful. 
He  was  not  blind  to  the  danger  of  their  position, 
and  he  continued  to  do  double  duty  in  everything; 
but  for  all  that  he  awoke  each  day  with  keen  antici- 
pation for  whatever  might  befall,  and,  sleeping, 
dreamed  of  other  things  than  the  poised  menace 
and  the  monotony.  Why  should  he  regret  Bristol, 

or  any  other  city  of  the  outer  world,  when  Beatrix 

190 


Brave   Days  for   Young   Hearts    191 

Westleigh  was  domiciled  within  the  rough  walls 
of  the  fort  on  Gray  Goose  River  ?  His  heart  would 
not  descend  to  those  depths  of  despondency  in  which 
lurk  fear  and  hopeless  anxiety.  What  power  of 
man,  in  that  wilderness,  could  break  down  his  guard 
and  harm  the  most  wonderful  being  in  the  world? 
The  girl's  brief  season  of  unkindness  toward  him 
was  as  a  cloud  that  her  later  friendliness  had  dis- 
persed as  the  sun  disperses  the  morning  fog.  He 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  heart  in  her  music, 
in  her  eyes,  in  her  voice,  and  on  several  occasions 
something  that  had  set  Jiis  heart  thumping  in  the 
touch  of  her  hand.  At  least  she  was  neither  averse 
nor  indifferent  to  his  society,  and  the  glances  of 
her  magnificent  eyes  were  open  to  translations  that 
set  him  looking  out  upon  life  and  that  wilderness 
through  a  golden  haze.  Let  a  dozen  black-visaged 
D'Antons  draw  their  rapiers  upon  him  —  he  would 
out-thrust,  out-play,  and  out-stamp  them  all!  Let 
a  hundred  fur-clad  savages  howl  about  the  fort 
-he,  Bernard  Kingswell,  with  his  lady's  favour 
on  his  breast,  would  scatter  them  like  straw!  And 
all  this  because,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  of 
twenty-one  years,  he  was  bitten  with  love  for  a 
woman,  —  and  twenty-one  was  a  fair,  manly  age 
in  those  days.  He  had  won  to  it  unknowingly, 
by  the  brave  paths  of  adventure  and  the  sea.  So 


192  Brothers   of  Peril 

let  not  even  the  oldest  of  us  criticize  his  attitude 
toward  life.  A  man's  emotions  cannot  always  be 
herded  and  driven  by  the  outward  circumstances 
of  need  and  danger,  like  a  flock  of  sheep  at  the 
mercy  of  a  dog  and  a  dull  countryman.  That  to 
which  cautious  Worldliness  has  given  the  name  of 
madness,  from  the  earliest  times,  is  nothing  but 
a  spark  of  God's  own  courage  and  imagination  in 
the  heart  of  youth :  the  years  having  not  yet  smoth- 
ered it  with  the  ashes  of  cowardice  and  calcula- 
tion. 

Bernard  Kingswell  had  never  displayed  any  but 
an  assured  front  to  the  world.  Now  this  love  that 
had  him  so  irresistibly  in  its  services  only  height- 
ened the  confidence  of  his  address  toward  men  and 
events;  but  in  the  presence  of  its  inspiration  it 
clothed  him  in  unaccustomed  and  unconscious  meek- 
ness. You  may  be  sure  that  Beatrix  had  been  quick 
to  notice  the  change.  It  pleased  her  mightily,  of 
course;  for  was  it  not  a  greater  and  a  more  pleas- 
ant matter  to  have  brought  a  high-hearted,  adven- 
ture-bred youth  like  this  to  bondage  and  slavery 
than  to  have  a  dozen  idle  courtiers  bowing  before 
one,  and  a  dozen  sentimental  poets  mouthing  verses 
that  could,  with  equal  sincerity,  be  applied  to  any 
charming  lady?  So  Mistress  Beatrix  decided,  and 
could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  regret  the  beaux 


Brave    Days   for   Young    Hearts    193 

of  London  Town.  But  she  did  not  know  her  heart 
as  the  man  knew  his  —  and  as  she  knew  his. 

One  morning  they  walked  together  along  the 
river-bank,  before  the  open  gate  of  the  fort.  The 
air  was  clearer  than  any  crystal.  The  shadows 
along  the  snow  were  bluer  than  the  dome  of  the 
sky.  The  girl  talked  cheerily;  for  in  the  bright 
daytime,  with  the  sounds  of  peaceful  labour  rising 
from  the  fort  so  close  at  hand,  and  with  a  strong 
and  worshipping  man,  sword-girt,  within  arm's 
length,  it  was  hard  to  remember  the  menace  con- 
cealed by  the  southern  woods.  Her  eyes  were  very 
bright,  and  the  blood  mantled  under  the  clear  skin 
of  her  cheeks  at  the  wind's  caress.  Now  and  then, 
for  a  bar  or  two,  she  broke  into  song. 

Their  path  was  one  that  Kingswell  had  beaten 
firm  with  his  snow-shoes,  after  the  last  storm,  ex- 
pressly as  a  promenade  for  Mistress  Westleigh.  It 
was  about  a  hundred  yards  in  length,  and  broad 
enough  for  two  persons  to  walk  in  abreast,  and 
firm  enough  to  make  the  wearing  of  snow-shoes 
unnecessary.  It  ran  north  and  south,  parallel  with 
the  stockade  and  the  course  of  the  river  at  that 
point.  When  the  turn  was  made  at  either  end  of 
the  beat,  Kingswell's  glance  searched  the  horizon 
and  every  tree,  every  knoll,  arid  hollow.  It  was 
done  almost  unconsciously,  as  a  traveller  instinct- 


194  Brothers  of  Peril 

ively  loosens  his  sword  in  its  sheath  at  the  sound 
of  voices  ahead  of  him  on  a- dark  road. 

After  a  time  the  girl  noticed  her  companion's 
vigilance.  "What  do  you  expect  to  see?"  she 
asked,  touching  his  arm  lightly  and  swiftly  with 
her  gloved  hand.  For  a  moment  he  was  confused, 
but  recovered  his  wits  with  an  effort. 

"  Nothing,"  he  replied,  "  or  surely  we  would  not 
be  walking  here." 

She  smiled  at  that.  "Are  you  afraid?"  she 
inquired. 

He  looked  down  at  her,  displayed  the  desperate 
condition  of  his  heart  in  his  eyes,  and  then  looked 
back  again  to  the  strip  of  woods  that  approached 
them  along  the  back. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  he  said  —  and  then,  with 
a  gasp  of  dismay,  he  caught  her  and  swung  her 
behind  him.  She  did  not  resist,  but  cowered  against 
his  sheltering  back. 

"  We  must  return  to  the  fort,"  he  said.  "  Some- 
thing is  going  on  in  that  covert." 

"  Come!  We  will  run!  "  she  whispered,  pulling 
at  his  elbows  to  turn  him  around. 

"  No,"  he  replied.  "  I  shall  walk  backwards,  and 
you  must  keep  behind  me,  and  guide  me.  It  is  no 
great  matter  to  avoid  an  arrow,  if  one  knows  m 
what  quarter  to  look  for  it," 


Brave   Days  for   Young   Hearts    195 

She  made  no  reply.  They  began  the  retreat  along 
the  narrow  branch  path  that  led  to  the  gate  of  the 
fort,  he  stepping  cautiously,  heels  first,  and  she  pull- 
ing at  his  belt  and  gazing  fearfully  past  his  shoulder 
at  the  woods.  They  were  within  a  few  yards  of 
the  gate  when  he  suddenly  put  his  arms  behind  him, 
caught  her  close,  and  lurched  to  one  side.  The 
unexpected  movement  threw  the  girl  to  her  knees 
in  the  deep  snow  beside  the  path.  Her  cry  of  dis- 
may brought  her  father  and  two  others  from  the 
fort.  They  found  Kingswell  staggering  and  con- 
fusedly apologizing  to  Beatrix  for  his  roughness. 
In  the  thickness  of  his  left  shoulder  stuck  a  war- 
arrow.  Supporting  Kingswell  and  fairly  dragging 
the  frightened  girl,  they  rushed  back  to  safety  and 
closed  and  barred  the  gate. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  without  the  hidden  war- 
riors of  Panounia  making  any  further  signs  of  hos- 
tility, or  even  of  their  existence.  The  watchers  on 
the  stockade  scanned  the  woods  in  vain  for  any 
movement.  A  shot  was  fired  into  the  nearest  cover 
from  one  of  the  cannon,  but  without  apparent  effect. 

Kingswell  was  on  duty  again  within  an  hour 
of  the  receiving  of  his  wound.  The  ragged  cut 
caused  him  a  deal  of  pain ;  but  the  salve  that  really 
took  the  sting  and  ache  out  of  it  was  the  thought 
that  he  had  been  serving  Beatrix  as  a  shield  when 


196  Brothers  of  Peril 

the  arrow  struck  him.  He  went  the  rounds  of  the 
stockades  with  a  glowing  heart  and  dauntless  bear- 
ing, and  his  air  of  calm  assurance  put  courage  into 
the  men.  He  saw  to  the  strengthening  of  several 
points  of  the  defence,  cleared  the  loopholes  of 
drifted  snow,  and  gave  out  an  extra  supply  of 
powder  and  ball. 

It  was  dusk  of  that  day  before  Kingswell  again 
saw  Mistress  Westleigh.  He  was  passing  the  bar- 
onet's cabin,  and  she  opened  the  door  and  called 
to  him  shyly.  He  turned  and  stepped  close  to  her, 
the  better  to  see  her  face  in  the  gathering  twilight. 
She  extended  her  hands  to  him,  with  a  quick  ges- 
ture of  invitation.  He  dropped  his  heavy  gloves 
on  the  snow  before  clasping  them  in  eager  fingers. 

"  But  you  must  not  stand  here,  without  anything 
'round  your  shoulders,"  he  said;  but,  for  all  his 
solicitude,  he  maintained  his  firm  hold  of  her  hands. 
She  laughed,  very  softly,  and  a  slight  pressure  of 
her  fingers  drove  his  anxiety  to  the  winds.  He 
would  have  nothing  of  evil  befall  her,  God  knows! 
-nay,  not  so  much  as  a  chill  —  but  how  could 
he  keep  it  in  his  mind  that  she  wore  no  cloak  when 
his  whole  being  was  a-thrill  with  love  and  worship  ? 
So  he  stood  there,  speechless,  gazing  into  her  flushed 
face.  Presently  her  eyes  lowered  before  his  ardent 
regard. 


Brave   Days  for   Young   Hearts    197 

"  I  called  to  you  to  thank  you  for  saving  my  life," 
she  murmured.  He  had  nothing  to  say  to  that. 
Perhaps  he  had  saved  her  life  —  and  again,  perhaps 
he  had  not.  At  that  moment  he  was  the  last  per- 
son in  the  world  to  decide  the  question.  His  heart 
and  mind  were  altogether  with  the  immediate  pres- 
ent. He  realized  that  her  hands  were  strong  and 
yet  tender  to  the  touch  of  his.  The  faint  fragrance 
of  her  hair  was  in  his  brain  like  some  divine  vint- 
age. The  sweet  curves  of  cheek  and  lips  —  how 
near  they  were!  She  had  called  to  him  with  more 
than  kindness  in  her  voice.  God  had  made  a  high 
heaven  of  this  fort  in  the  wilderness. 

"  You  were  very  brave,"  she  said,  .leaning  nearer 
ever  so  slightly.  Sweet  madness  completely  over- 
threw the  lad's  native  caution,  and  he  was  about 
to  catch  her  to  him  bodily,  when  she  slipped  nimbly 
into  the  cabin,  and  left  him  standing  with  arms 
extended  in  silent  invitation  toward  the  figure  of 
the  imperturbed  Sir  Ralph. 

"  Well,  my  lad  ?  "  inquired  the  baronet,  calmly. 

"  Good  evening  to  you,  Sir  Ralph,"  replied  Kings- 
well,  hiding  his  chagrin  and  confusion  with  exceed- 
ing skill. 

"  You  looked  just  now  as  if  you  were  expecting 
me,"  said  the  elder.  "  Come  in,  come  in.  We  can 
talk  better  by  the  fire." 


198  Brothers  of  Peril 

Kingswell's  blushes  were  safe  in  the  dusk.  He 
picked  up  his  gloves  from  the  trampled  snow  by 
the  threshold,  and  silently  followed  the  baronet 
into  the  fire-lit  living-room.  Beatrix  was  not  there 
—  which  fact  the  lover  noticed  with  a  sinking  of 
the  heart.  He  was  alone  with  her  father,  and  evi- 
dently under  marked  suspicion,  —  a  fearful  matter 
to  a  young  man  who  aspires  to  the  hand  of  an 
angel,  and  has  not  yet  his  line  of  action  quite  laid 
down.  He  took  a  deep  breath,  trembled  at  thought 
of  his  presumption,  called  the  respectability  of  his 
parents  and  his  income  to  his  aid,  and  was  ready 
for  the  baronet  when  that  gentleman  turned  and 
faced  him  in  front  of  the  fire. 

"  I  love  your  daughter,"  he  said,  with  his  voice 
not  quite  so  cool  and  manly  as  he  had  intended  it 
to  be. 

Sir  Ralph  bowed,  but  said  nothing.  His  back 
was  to  the  fire,  and  so  his  face  was  in  heavy  shadow. 

"  I  love  her  very  dearly,"  continued  the  other. 
"  I  believe  no  man  could  love  a  woman  more,  for 
it  is  with  my  whole  heart,  and  with  every  fibre  of 
my  being.  I  know,  sir,  that  my  rank  is  not  ex- 
alted, and  that  she  is  the  —  " 

The  baronet  raised  his  hand  sharply. 

The  gesture  silenced  Kingswell  in  the  middle  of 


Brave  Days  for  Young  Hearts     199 

his  sentence  more  effectively  than  a  clap  of  thun- 
der would  have  done  it. 

"  Yes,"   said   Sir   Ralph,   harshly,    "  she   is   the 

daughter  of  a  blackleg.     She  is  the  daughter  of 

a  criminal  exile.     She  is  the  daughter  of  a  broken 

gamester.     Ay,  Bernard,  you  do  indeed  look  high, 

-you,  the  son  of  a  humble  merchant  of  Bristol." 

Kingswell  was  dismayed  for  the  moment.  Then, 
with  a  hardy  oath,  he  slapped  his  hand  to  his  hip. 

"  Though  she  were  the  daughter  of  the  devil 
himself,"  he  began,  and  came  to  a  lame  stop.  The 
baronet's  smile  passed  unseen.  It  was  a  kindly 
smile,  and  yet  a  bitter  one  by  the  same  tokens. 
Kingswell  gave  up  all  attempt  at  politic  speech. 
He  had  his  own  feelings  to  express.  "  Your  daugh- 
ter, sir,  is  the  best  and  the  loveliest,"  he  said,  husk- 
ily. "  Whatever  your  backslidings  and  misfortunes 
have  been,  they  can  reflect  in  no  way  on  her  sweet- 
ness, and  wisdom,  and  virtue.  But,  sir,  I  do  not 
mean  to  sit  in  judgment  on  any  man,  and  last  of 
all  on  the  father  of  the  most  glorious  woman  in 
the  world.  I  remember  you  in  your  strength,  — 
the  greatest  man  in  the  county  and  my  father's 
noble  friend.  The  world  has  taken  a  twirl  since 
then,  but  you  may  be  sure  that,  whatever  betide, 
my  heart  is  with  you  warmer  than  my  worthy 
father's  ever  was." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

BETROTHED 

THAT  Bernard  Kingswell  had  accepted  the  bar- 
onet's own  estimation  of  his  (the  baronet's)  char- 
acter so  frankly,  in  the  heat  of  sentimental  dis- 
closure, did  not  trouble  Sir  Ralph  by  more  than 
a  pang  or  two.  What  else  could  he  expect  of  even 
this  true  friend?  He  was  a  broken  gamester  and 
a  criminal  exile  by  all  the  signs  and  by  the  verdict 
of  the  law;  but  whether  or  not  he  was  a  blackleg 
was  a  matter  of  opinion  and  the  exact  definition 
of  that  word.  He  knew  that  Kingswell  was  well 
disposed  toward  him,  and  that  he  believed  nothing 
vile  or  cowardly  of  him;  but,  best  of  all,  he  was 
sure  that,  in  Kingswell's  love,  his  daughter  was 
fortunate  beyond  his  hoping  of  the  past  two  years. 
Should  they  get  clear  of  the  besieging  natives  and 
out  of  the  wilderness,  her  future  happiness,  safety, 
and  position  would  be  assured.  As  Mistress  Ber- 
nard Kingswell,  she  would  live  close  to  the  colour 
and  finer  things  of  life  again,  gracing  some  fair 

200 


Betrothed  2OI 

house  as  a  former  Beatrix  had  done  in  other  days 
—  to  wit,  the  great  houses  of  Beverly  and  Randon. 
The  mist  blurred  his  eyes  at  that  memory  and 
dimmed  his  vision  against  the  rough  log  walls 
around  him. 

Another  thought  came  to  the  broken  baronet, 
as  he  sat  alone  by  the  falling  fire,  after  Kingswell's 
departure,  and  awaited  his  supper  and  the  reap- 
pearance of  his  daughter.  The  thought  was  like 
a  black  shadow  between  his  face  and  the  comfort- 
ing fir  sticks  —  between  his  heart  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  a  good  man's  love  and  protection  for  Bea- 
trix. Knowing  the  girl  as  he  did,  he  felt  sure  that 
she  would  never  leave  him,  her  exiled  father,  even 
at  the  call  of  a  more  compelling  love;  and,  as  a 
return  to  his  own  country  meant  prison  or  death 
to  him,  she  would  hold  to  the  wilderness,  thereby 
leaving  the  new-found  happiness  untouched.  On 
the  other  hand,  should  death  come  to  him  soon, 
and  in  the  wilderness,  —  by  the  arrows  of  the  en- 
emy, for  choice,  —  his  daughter's  fetters  would  be 
filed  for  ever.  He  sank  his  face  between  his  hands. 
The  desire  to  live  out  one's  time  clings  about  a 
man's  vitals  against  all  reason.  Even  an  exiled 
and  broken  gamester,  stockaded  in  a  nameless  wil- 
derness and  hemmed  in  by  savages,  finds  a  certain 
zest  in  day  and  night  and  the  winds  of  heaven. 


2O2  Brothers  of  Peril 

With  nothing  to  live  for  —  even  with  the  scales 
decidedly  the  other  way  —  Death  still  presents  an 
uninviting  face.  It  may  be  the  inscrutable  mask 
of  him  that  fills  with  distrust  the  heart  of  the  man 
who  contemplates  the  Long  Journey.  In  that  in-' 
evitable  yet  mysterious  figure,  showing  as  no  more 
than  a  shadow  between  the  bed  and  the  window, 
it  is  hard  for  the  sinful  mortal,  no  matter  how 
repentant,  to  read  clear  the  promise  of  eternal  peace. 
What  dark  deed  might  not  be  perpetrated  by  the 
shrouded  messenger  between  the  death-bed  and 
Paradise  ? 

Sir  Ralph  bowed  his  head  between  his  palms,  and 
hid  the  commonplace,  beautiful  radiance  of  the 
hearth-fire  from  his  eyes;  and  so,  while  he  waited 
for  his  supper  of  stewed  venison,  he  reasoned  and 
planned  for  his  daughter's  future  to  the  bitter  end, 
seeing  clearly  that,  should  the  chances  of  battle 
turn  in  favour  of  the  little  plantation,  he  must  re- 
adjust his  sentiments  toward  death.  A  man  of 
lower  breeding  and  commoner  courage  would  have 
groaned  in  the  travail  of  that  thought,  and  cursed 
the  alternative;  but  the  baronet  sat  in  silence  until 
he  heard  his  daughter  at  the  door,  and  then  stood 
up  and  hummed  softly  the  opening  bars  of  a  Som- 
erset hunting-song. 

Beatrix  tripped  close  to  her  father  and  raised  her 


Betrothed  203 

face  to  him.  He  bent  and  kissed  her  tenderly.  For 
a  little  while  they  stood  without  speaking,  hand  in 
hand,  on  the  great  caribou  skin  before  the  hearth. 
Suddenly  the  girl  pressed  her  cheek  against  his 
shoulder. 

"  What  was  it,"  she  whispered,  breathlessly,  — 
"  the  matter  that  held  you  and  Bernard  in  such 
serious  converse?" 

"  And  has  your  heart  given  you  no  hint  of  it?  " 
he  laughed. 

"And  why,  dear  father?  What  has  my  heart 
to  do  with  your  talk  of  guards  and  ammunition 
and  supplies,  —  save  that  it  is  with  you  in  every- 
thing?" 

The  baronet  released  her  hand  and,  instead, 
placed  his  arm  about  her  slender  and  rounded  waist. 
"  It  is  a  story  that  I  cannot  tell  you,  sweet,  —  I, 
who  am  your  father,"  he  said.  "  But  I  think  that 
you  shall  not  have  to  wait  long  for  the  telling  of 
it,  for  both  youth  and  love  are  impatient.  And 
here  comes  the  good  Maggie  with  the  candles." 

During  the  meal  the  baronet  was  more  lively 
and  entertaining  than  Beatrix  had  seen  him  for 
years,  and  Beatrix,  in  her  turn,  was  unusually  un- 
talkative  and  preoccupied.  The  girl  wanted  to  give 
her  undivided  attention  to  the  quiet  voice  of  her 
heart.  The  man  was  equally  anxious  to  avoid  in- 


204  Brothers   of  Peril 

trospection  as  she  to  court  it.  But  he,  for  all  his 
laughter  and  gay  stories  of  gay  times  spent,  dis- 
played a  colourless  face  and  haunted  eyes  behind 
the  candle-light;  while  she,  sitting  in  silence, 
glowed  like  a  rare  flower.  Her  dark,  massed 
tresses,  her  eyes  of  unnamable  colour,  her  throat 
and  lips  and  brow,  were  all  radiant  with  the  magic 
fire  at  her  heart. 

Sir  Ralph,  after  bringing  a  disjointed  tale  to  a 
vague  ending,  sipped  his  wine,  put  down  the  glass 
clumsily,  and  suddenly  turned  away  from  the  table. 
The  bitterness  of  his  lot  had  caught  him  by  the 
throat.  But  she  noticed  nothing  of  his  change  of 
manner;  and  presently  they  left  the  table  and 
moved  to  the  fire.  He  busied  himself  with  heaping 
faggots  across  the  dogs.  Then  she  filled  his  to- 
bacco-pipe for  him,  and  lit  it  with  a  coal  from  the 
hearth,  puffing  daintily.  He  had  just  got  it  in  his 
hand  when  a  knocking  sounded  on  the  door,  and 
Maggie  Stone  opened  to  Kingswell. 

Upon  Kingswell's  entrance,  Sir  Ralph,  after 
greeting  him  cordially  but  quietly,  donned  his 
cloak  and  hat,  and  begged  to  be  excused  for  a  few 
minutes.  "  I  have  a  word  for  Trigget,"  he  said. 
Then  he  pulled  on  his  gloves,  pushed  open  the  door, 
and  stepped  out  to  the  dark. 

Two  candles  burned  on  the  table.    Maggie  Stone 


Betrothed  205 

snuffed  them,  surveyed  the  room  and  its  inmates 
with  a  comprehensive  glance,  and  at  last  forced  her 
unwilling  feet  kitchenward  again.  Her  heart  was 
as  sentimental  as  heroic,  was  Maggie  Stone's,  and 
her  nature  was  of  an  inquisitive  turn.  She  sighed 
plaintively  as  she  left  the  presence  of  the  young 
couple. 

The  door  leading  to  the  kitchen  had  no  more 
than  closed  behind  the  servant  than  Bernard,  with- 
out preliminaries,  dropped  on  one  knee  before  the 
lady  of  his  adoration,  and  lifted  both  her  hands  to 
his  lips.  She  did  not  move,  but  stood  between 
the  candles  and  the  firelight,  all  a-gleam  in  her 
beauty  and  her  fine  raiment,  and  gazed  down  at 
the  golden  head.  Her  lips  smiled,  but  her  eyes 
were  grave. 

"  Dear  heart,"  murmured  the  lad,  without  lift- 
ing his  face  or  altering  his  position,  —  "  dear  heart, 
can  it  be  true?  " 

She  bent  her  head  a  little  lower.  Her  heart 
seemed  as  if  it  was  about  to  break  away  from  its 
bonds  in  her  side.  She  could  not  speak;  but,  al- 
most unconsciously,  she  closed  her  fingers  upon  his. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  cried.  And  again,  with  a  note 
of  fear  in  his  voice :  "  Tell  me  if  I  may  win  you ! 
Tell  me  if  your  heart  has  any  promise  ?  " 

Before    she   could    control    her    agitation    suffi- 


206  Brothers  of  Peril 

ciently  to  answer  him,  the  outer  door  of  the  cabin 
was  swung  open  without  ceremony,  and  Sir  Ralph 
stamped  in.  He  caught  Kingswell  by  the  wrist 
and  wrenched  it  sharply. 

"  We  are  attacked,"  he  cried.  "  They  have  piled 
heaps  of  dry  brush  along  the  palisades  —  and  they 
have  set  the  stuff  on  fire !  It  burns  like  mad.  Lord, 
but  it  looks  more  like  hell  than  ever !  " 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  fragrant,  biting  odour  of 
the  smoke  from  the  burning  evergreen-needles  in- 
vaded the  room.  Kingswell  got  quickly  to  his  feet, 
still  holding  the  girl's  hands.  He  did  not  look  at 
the  baronet.  For  a  second  he  paused  and  peered, 
questioning,  into  her  wonderful  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  love  you,  dear  heart,"  she  cried,  faintly. 
"  I  love  you,  Bernard." 

He  stooped  quickly  (and  how  eagerly  every 
lover  knows),  and  even  while  the  first  brief  and 
tremulous  kiss  was  sweet  on  their  lips,  the  muskets 
clapped  deafeningly,  savage  shouts  rang  high,  and 
the  baronet  thrust  sword  and  hat  into  Bernard's 
hands. 

"  Come !  For  God's  grace,  lad,  come  and  rally 
the  men !  "  he  shouted. 

Then  the  lover  turned  from  his  mistress  and  saw 
the  shrewd  work  that  awaited  him.  He  ran  to  it 
with  a  leaping  heart. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

A    FIRE  -  LIT   BATTLE.      OUENWA's   RETURN 

THE  heaps  of  brush  outside  the  palisades  burned 
with  a  long-drawn  roaring,  like  the  note  of  a  steady 
wind.  It  was  a  terrifying  sound.  The  glare  of 
the  conflagration  lit  the  interior  of  the  fort,  stain- 
ing the  trampled  snow  of  the  yard  to  an  awful  hue, 
staining  the  faces  of  the  desperate  settlers  as  if 
with  foreshadowing  of  blood,  and  painting  the 
walls  of  the  cabins  as  if  for  a  carnival.  The  plat- 
form upon  which  the  guns  stood  was  a  mass  of 
flame  before  any  use  could  be  made  of  the  pieces. 
The  breastwork  of  faggots  burned  with  leapings 
and  roarings,  flinging  orange  and  crimson  showers 
to  the  black  dome  above.  The  savages  skirmished 
behind  the  girdle  of  flames,  like  imps  along  the 
blood-coloured  snow.  The  settlers  discharged  their 
muskets  through  the  singed  loopholes,  firing  low, 
and  taking  the  chances  with  heroic  fortitude.  Sir 
Ralph  and  Bernard  Kingswell  were  here  and  there, 

with  their  swords  in  their  hands  and  encourage- 

207 


2o8  Brothers  of  Peril 

ment  in  speech  and  bearing.  Both  knew  that  this 
engagement  would  be  a  fight  to  the  finish ;  and  both 
felt  reasonably  sure  that  a  shrewder  and  braver 
commander  than  Panounia  was  against  them. 

The  ammunition  was  carried  from  the  storehouse 
to  the  shed  over  the  well,  for  the  fire  was  already 
crackling  against  the  log  walls  of  the  buildings. 
Suddenly  a  sharp  report  and  a  high  shower  of 
sparks  and  burning  fragments  broke  from  the  gun- 
platform;  and,  for  the  moment,  the  warriors  were 
scattered  from  that  side.  One  of  the  cannon  had 
exploded.  That  corner  of  the  stockade  immediately 
fell  and  settled  to  the  snow.  Next  instant  the  sec- 
ond gun  was  fired  by  the  flames.  It  sent  its  whole 
charge  into  the  uncertain  Beothics,  scattering  them 
to  cover  in  yelling  disorder.  At  that  the  English- 
men cheered,  and  set  about  fighting  back  the  en- 
croaching flames. 

Inspiration,  or  a  font  of  courage  to  be  drawn 
upon  at  need,  must  have  dwelt  behind  the  shelter 
of  the  spruces;  for  within  a  very  few  minutes  of 
the  retreat,  all  the  warriors,  save  the  wounded,  were 
about  the  fort  again.  Kingswell  took  note  of  it, 
and  suspected  the  inspiration  to  be  nothing  else 
than  Pierre  d'Antons'  insinuating  presence  and  daz- 
zling smile.  A  spur,  too,  he  suspected  —  the  spur 
of  the  mongrel  Frenchman's  evil  sneer  and  black 


A   Fire-lit  Battle  209 

temper.  He  knew  enough  of  the  aboriginal  char- 
acter to  feel  that  it  would  prove  but  a  plaything 
for  such  a  personality  as  the  buccaneer's.  He 
looked  across  the  glowing,  smoking  breach  in  the 
fortifications  with  hard  eyes.  He  voiced  his  desire 
to  have  the  fellow  by  the  throat,  or  at  the  point 
of  his  sword,  in  tones  that  rang  like  a  curse. 

Suddenly  Kingswell  left  his  post  and  ran  to  the 
well-house. 

He  knew  where  the  Pelican's  powder  lay  among 
the  stores,  done  up  in  five  canvas  bags  of  about 
twelve  pounds  each.  With  two  of  these  under  his 
cloak,  he  returned  to  his  place  a  few  paces  from 
the  subsiding  red  barrier  that  still  held  the  enemy 
from  the  interior  of  the  fort.  By  this  time  the 
back  of  Trigget's  cabin  was  smouldering.  The 
roofs  of  the  cabins,  deep  with  snow,  were  safe; 
but  the  rear  walls  were  all  in  a  fair  way  of  being 
ignited  by  the  crackling  brushwood,  which  the  war- 
riors of  Panounia  diligently  piled  against  them. 

Kingswell  left  the  protection  of  the  rest  of  the 
square  to  Sir  Ralph,  William  Trigget,  and  all  the 
men  of  the  garrison  save  Tom  Bent.  The  old 
boatswain  was,  by  this  time,  a  very  active  conva- 
lescent. Kingswell  whispered  a  word  or  two  in 
his  ear.  They  kept  a  sharp  lookout  across  the 
wreckage  of  the  fallen  corner  of  the  stockade. 


2IO  Brothers   of  Peril 

They  saw  a  party  of  the  enemy  gather  ominously 
close  to  the  glowing  edge  of  the  breach.  Kings- 
well  passed  one  of  the  bags  of  powder  to  his  com- 
panion. "  When  I  give  the  word,"  he  said. 

Suddenly  the  black  knot  of  warriors  dashed  into 
the  obstruction,  brandishing  spears  and  clubs,  and 
screaming  like  maniacs.  Kingswell  uttered  a  low, 
quick  cry,  tossed  his  bag  of  powder  into  the  glow- 
ing coals  under  the  feet  of  the  enemy,  and  ran  for 
the  shelter  of  the  well-house  at  top  speed.  Tom 
Bent  followed  his  movements  on  the  instant.  To- 
gether they  reached  the  narrow  shelter;  and,  be- 
fore they  could  turn  about,  the  air  shook  and  reeled, 
as  if  a  bolt  of  wind  had  broken  upon  them,  a  blind- 
ing flash  seemed  to  consume  the  whole  night,  and 
a  puffing,  thumping  report  stunned  their  ears. 
They  stumbled  against  the  sides  of  the  shed,  clawed 
desperately,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

When  Bernard  Kingswell  and  the  trusty  boat- 
swain regained  their  senses  (which  had  left  them 
for  only  a  few  seconds),  they  crawled  from  the 
well-house  and  stared  about  them.  The  square  was 
not  so  bright  as  it  had  been,  and,  save  for  a  few 
huddled  shapes  on  the  snow,  was  empty.  By  the 
shouting  and  mixed  tumult,  they  knew  that  the 
fighting  was  now  farther  away  —  that  the  settlers 
had  sallied  forth  on  the  offensive.  They  could  not 


A   Fire-lit  Battle  211 

understand  such  recklessness;  but  they  decided, 
without  hesitation,  to  take  the  risk.  They  ran  to 
the  now  black  gap  in  the  palisades.  Fire,  coals, 
wreckage,  and  even  the  snow  had  been  hurled  and 
blown  broadcast.  They  crossed  the  torn  ground 
and  headed  for  the  tumult  in  the  fitfully  illuminated 
spaces  beyond.  Native  war-whoops  and  English 
shouts  mixed  and  clashed  in  the  frosty  air.  On 
the  very  edge  of  the  shifting  conflict,  the  old  sailor 
clutched  his  master's  arm.  "  Hark !  "  he  cried. 
"  D'ye  hear  that  now  ?  It  be  the  yell  o'  that  young 
Ouenwa,  sir,  or  ye  can  call  me  a  Dutcher !  " 

At  the  same  moment,  before  Kingswell  could 
reply  to  Bent's  statement,  a  club,  thrown  by  a  re- 
treating warrior,  caught  the  gentleman  on  the  side 
of  the  head  and  felled  him  like  a  thing  of  wood. 
He  moaned,  as  he  toppled  over.  Then  he  lay  still 
on  the  ruddy  snow. 

Beatrix  had  a  dozen  candles  alight  in  the  living- 
room  of  the  baronet's  cabin.  Word  had  reached  her 
that  Ouenwa  and  Black  Feather  had  arrived  in  time 
to  take  advantage  of  the  rebuff  dealt  the  enemy 
by  the  explosions  of  the  bags  of  powder.  When 
victory  had  seemed  to  be  hopelessly  in  the  hands 
of  the  determined  savages,  Ouenwa  and  his  follow- 


212  Brothers  of  Peril 

ers,  though  spent  from  their  journey,  had  made 
a  timely  and  successful  rear  attack. 

The  girl  was  radiant.  She  moved  up  and  down 
the  room,  eagerly  awaiting  the  return  of  Bernard 
Kingswell.  She  questioned  herself  as  to  that,  and 
laughed  joyously.  Yes,  it  was  Bernard,  beyond 
peradventure,  whom  heart,  hands,  and  lips  longed 
to  recover  and  reward.  A  month  ago,  a  week  ago, 
it  would  have  been  her  father  —  even  a  night  ago 
he  would  have  shared,  equally  with  the  lover,  in 
her  sweet  and  eager  concern.  But  now  she  sped 
from  hearth  to  door,  and  peered  out  into  the  black- 
ness, with  no  thought  of  any  of  those  brave  fellows 
save  the  lad  of  Bristol. 

The  burning  brush  had  all  been  trampled  out, 
and  the  fires  in  the  walls  and  stockade  had  been 
quenched  with  water.  The  little  square  was  dark, 
save  for  the  subdued  fingers  of  light  from  windows 
and  doors.  Beatrix  peered  from  the  open  door, 
regardless  of  the  cold.  She  was  outlined  black 
against  the  warm  radiance  inside  the  room.  Her 
silken  garments  clung  about  her,  pressed  gently  by 
a  breath  of  wind.  She  rested  a  hand  on  either 
upright  of  the  doorway,  and  leaned  forward  as 
if,  at  a  whim,  she  would  fly  out  from  the  threshold. 
Presently  shadowy  figures  took  shape  in  the  gloom, 
and  she  heard  her  father's  voice,  and  William  Trig- 


A   Fire-lit   Battle  213 

get's,  and  the  high  pipe  of  Ouenwa.  But  she  caught 
no  sound  of  Bernard  Kingswell's  clear  tones.  A 
sudden  fear  caught  her,  and  she  stepped  out  upon 
the  trampled  snow  and  called  to  Sir  Ralph.  In 
a  moment  he  was  at  her  side,  and  had  an  arm  about 
her. 

"  Sweeting,"  he  said,  "  you  must  stay  within  for 
a  little.  The  night  is  bitterly  cold,  and  —  " 

"  But  where  is  Bernard?  "  she  whispered,  staring 
past  him. 

"  He  is  with  the  others,"  replied  the  baronet, 
—  "  with  Ouenwa  and  his  brave  fellows,  and  the 
dauntless  Trigget." 

He  spoke  quickly  and  uneasily,  and  led  her  back 
to  the  cabin  at  the  same  time.  He  closed  the  door, 
and  laid  a  wet  sword  across  a  stool. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried,  facing  him,  with  wide 
eyes  and  bloodless  cheeks.  "  Tell  me !  Tell  me !  " 

"  The  lad  is  hurt,"  admitted  Sir  Ralph. 

"Hurt?"  repeated  the  girl,  vaguely.  "Hurt? 
How  should  he  be  hurt?" 

She  shivered,  and  gripped  her  hand  desperately. 
Could  it  be  that  the  High  God  had  been  deaf  to 
her  prayers? 

Sir  Ralph's  face  went  as  pale  as  hers;  for  all  he 
knew  of  Kingswell's  condition  was  that  he  still 
breathed,  and  that  his  hat  had  saved  his  head  from 


214  Brothers   of  Peril 

being  cut.  Whether  the  skull  was  broken  or  not, 
he  did  not  know.  He  braced  himself,  and  smiled. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  he  is  not  seriously  hurt, 
so  do  not  stand  like  that  —  for  God's  sake!" 

At  the  last  words  his  voice  lost  its  note  of  com- 
posure, and  broke  shrilly.  He  caught  her  to  him. 
"  Rip  me,"  he  cried,  "  but  if  you  act  so  when  he 
is  simply  knocked  over,  what  will  you  do  if  he  ever 
gets  a  real  wound !  " 

The  girl  was  comforted.  Tears  sprang  to  her 
eyes,  and  the  blood  returned  to  her  cheeks.  She 
clung  to  the  baronet  and  sobbed  against  his  shoul- 
der. Presently  she  looked  up. 

"  Take  me  to  him,"  she  begged,  "  or  bring  him 
here." 

"  So  you  love  this  Bernard  Kingswell  ?  "  inquired 
her  father,  looking  steadily  into  her  face. 

Her  gleaming  eyes  did  not  waver  from  his  gaze. 
"  Yes,"  she  replied,  quietly. 

The  man  turned  away,  took  his  blood-wet  sword 
from  the  stool,  eyed  it  dully,  and  leaned  it  against 
the  wall.  He  was  trying  to  imagine  what  the  lad's 
death  would  mean  to  his  daughter's  future;  but 
he  could  only  see  that  it  would  mean  a  few  more 
years  for  himself.  He  started  guiltily,  and  returned 
to  his  daughter.  His  face  was  desperately  grim. 


A   Fire-lit   Battle  215 

"  Wait  for  me,"  he  said.  "  I'll  see  how  the  lad 
is  doing  now;  and  shall  return  immediately." 

Sir  Ralph  crossed  to  the  cottage  that  had  been 
built  for  D'Antons,  and  which  had  passed  on  to 
Kingswell.  He  opened  the  door  softly  and  stepped 
within.  He  found  the  wounded  gentleman  lying 
prone  on  his  couch,  half-undressed,  and  with  ban- 
daged head.  Ouenwa,  gaunt  and  blood-stained, 
was  beside  the  still  figure. 

"  He  opened  his  eyes,"  whispered  the  boy ;  "  but 
see,  he  has  closed  them  again.  His  spirit  waits  at 
the  spreading  of  the  trails." 

Sir  Ralph  bent  down  and  examined  the  linen 
dressings  on  Kingswell's  head.  They  were  exceed- 
ingly well  arranged.  He  saw  that  the  hair  had 
been  cut  away  from  the  place  of  the  wound. 

'  Your  work,  Ouenwa  ?  "  he  inquired. 

The  boy  nodded.  The  baronet  felt  his  friend's 
pulse. 

"  It  beats  strong,"  he  said.  "  The  heart  seems 
sure  enough  of  the  path  to  take." 

Ouenwa's  face  lighted  quickly.  "  He  has 
chosen,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  He  has  seen  the  hunt- 
ing-grounds shining  beyond  the  west,  but  the  beauty 
of  them  has  not  lured  him  along  that  trail." 

The  baronet  smiled  quickly  into  the  Beothic's 
eyes.  "  You  are  a  brave  lad,  and  we  are  deep 


216  Brothers  of  Peril 

in  debt  to  you,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Your  bravery  and 
wit  have  saved  the  fort  and  all  our  lives.  Watch 
your  friend  a  few  minutes  longer ;  I  but  go  to  bring 
another  nurse  to  help  you.  Then  you  may  sleep." 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

FATE  DEALS   CARDS   OF   BOTH    COLOURS   IN  THE 
LITTLE    FORT 

FROM  that  brisk  fight,  in  which  Ouenwa  and  his 
twenty  braves  and  the  little  garrison  of  Fort  Bea- 
trix defeated  Panounia,  Black  Feather  brought  a 
confirmation  of  Pierre  d'Antons'  concern  in  the  last 
attacks  upon  the  settlement.  It  consisted  of  a 
sword-belt  and  an  empty  scabbard.  He  had  torn 
them  from  the  person  of  a  tall  antagonist  during 
a  brief  hand-to-hand  encounter.  The  owner  of  the 
gear  had  won  free,  Black  Feather  regretted  to  say. 
Sir  Ralph,  too,  felt  the  escape  of  his  enemy,  and 
sincerely  hoped  that  the  defeat  had  ended  his  power 
over  Panounia,  and  brought  down  that  wolfish 
chief's  hatred  instead. 

On  the  morning  after  the  battle,  the  little  plan- 
tation presented  a  busy  though  sombre  appearance 
to  those  of  its  people  who  were  in  condition  to  view 
it.  Along  the  woods  and  rising  ground  to  the 

north,  the  snow  and  frozen  soil  were  being  hollowed 

217 


218  Brothers  of  Peril 

to  receive  the  bodies  of  those  slain  in  the  fight. 
The  dead  of  the  enemy  had  been  carried  far  into 
the  woods,  and  piled  together  with  scant  ceremony. 
The  settlers  had  lost  three  of  their  number,  — 
young  Donnelly,  Harding,  and  the  younger  Trigget. 
Four  of  the  rescuing  party  were  dead  and  wounded. 
Tom  Bent  was  on  his  back  again,  and  Kingswell's 
head  was  ringing  like  a  sea-shell.  William  Trigget 
was  cut  about  the  face  and  sore  all  over;  but  he 
kept  on  his  feet. 

After  the  graves  were  chipped  in  the  iron  earth, 
and  the  shrouded  bodies  lowered  therein  and  cov- 
ered, the  tribesmen,  under  Black  Feather's  orders, 
set  about  building  themselves  lodges  outside  the 
stockade.  It  had  been  decided  that,  for  mutual 
support,  the  friendly  Beothics  should  camp  near  the 
fort,  at  least  for  the  remainder  of  the  winter.  With 
axes  borrowed  from  the  settlement,  they  soon  had 
the  forest  ringing  with  the  noise  of  their  labour. 
Though  they  had  travelled  light,  in  their  hurry  to 
rescue  the  friends  of  Ouenwa  and  Black  Feather, 
they  had  dragged  along  with  them  a  few  sled-loads 
of  deerskins  and  birch  bark,  with  which  to  cover 
their  wigwams.  So  the  shelters  sprang  up  quickly 
about  the  torn  and  scorched  palisades;  for  it  was 
a  small  matter  to  trim  the  poles  and  fit  the  pliable 
roofs  across  the  conical  frames. 


Cards   of  Both    Colours  219 

The  dusk  gathered  over  the  wilderness,  dimming 
the  edges  of  white  barren  and  black  forest  and 
round  hill.  The  stars  shone  silver  above,  and  the 
fires  of  the  victorious  men  of  the  totem  of  the  Bear 
glowed  red  below.  In  the  outer  room  of  the  cabin 
that  had  been  Pierre  d'Antons',  Beatrix  sat  alone 
by  Kingswell's  bed.  Her  eyes  were  on  the  leap- 
ing flames  in  the  chimney,  and  his  were  on  the 
fair  lines  of  her  averted  face.  The  top  of  his  head 
was  so  swathed  in  bandages  that  he  looked  like 
a  turbaned  Turk.  Cheeks  and  chin  were  white  as 
paper  in  the  unstable  light.  His  eyes  were  bright 
with  a  touch  of  fever  brought  on  by  his  suffering. 
His  mind  was  in  a  fitful  mood,  for  a  minute  or 
two  steady  enough  and  concerned  with  the  present 
and  the  room  in  which  he  lay,  and  then  wandering 
abroad,  exploring  vague  trails  of  remembrance  and 
imagining.  Sometimes  he  murmured  words  and 
sentences,  but  in  such  a  gabbling  style  that  his  nurse 
could  have  made  nothing  of  what  was  passing  in 
his  brain  even  if  she  had  taken  such  advantage  of 
his  condition  as  to  try. 

After  a  long  spell  of  uneasy  mutterings,  followed 
by  a  profound  silence,  he  suddenly  flung  out  one 
arm.  The  movement  startled  Beatrix  from  her 
dreaming,  and  she  turned  her  face  back  to  him 
from  the  fire. 


22O  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  Twenty  days  without  water,"  he  whispered, 
distinctly.  "  Twenty  days  —  and  that  beast  Trow- 
ley  is  laughing  to  see  my  tongue  between  my  teeth 
like  a  squeezed  rag." 

The  girl  caught  up  a  mug  of  water  and  held  it 
to  his  lips.  He  drank  greedily,  and  then  took  hold 
of  her  hand.  His  head  was  against  the  hollow  of 
her  arm;  for,  to  give  him  the  drink,  she  had  knelt 
beside  his  low  bed. 

"  Beatrix,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  let  us  pretend  that 
you  love  me." 

She  was  strangely  moved  at  that,  and  bent  closer 
to  see  his  eyes. 

"  Why  pretend,  dear  heart?  "  she  answered.  "  I 
do  love  you,  as  you  very  well  know.  Sleep  again, 
Bernard,  with  your  head  so  —  pressed  close." 

"  I  feel  your  heart,"  he  said,  simply  as  a  child. 
The  fever  was  as  a  fine  haze  across  the  mirror  of 
his  brain. 

"  It  beats  only  for  you,"  she  murmured,  pressing 
her  lips  to  his  cheek.  The  lad's  eyes  shone  with  a 
clearer  light  at  that. 

"  Tell  me  that  this  is  no  vision  of  fever,"  he 
said.  "  Tell  me,  or  strength  will  bring  nothing 
but  sorrow.  Better  death  than  to  find  your  kisses 
a  trick  of  dreaming." 


Cards   of  Both    Colours  221 

"  Is  it  not  a  pleasant  dream?  "  she  asked,  softly, 
smiling  a  little. 

"  Ay ;  to  dream  so,  a  man  would  gladly  have 
done  with  waking,"  he  replied.  "  If  it  were  not 
in  life  that  Beatrix  were  mine,  then  would  I  follow 
the  vision  through  eternal  sleep  —  as  God  is  my 
judge." 

"  Hush,  dear  lad,"  she  murmured,  "  for  the  heart 
and  the  body  of  Beatrix  are  of  right  Somersetshire 
stuff,  to  fade  not  at  any  whim  of  fever  —  and  the 
love  she  gives  you  will  outlast  life  —  as  God  is  our 
judge  and  love  His  handiwork."  And  she  kissed 
him  again,  blushing  sweetly  at  her  daring.  And 
so  they  remained,  she  kneeling  beside  the  couch, 
and  he  with  his  bandaged  head  against  her  lovely 
shoulder,  until  Sir  Ralph  entered  the  cabin,  fum- 
bling discreetly  at  the  latch. 

The  days  passed  slowly  in  the  heart  of  that 
frozen  wilderness  between  the  white  river  and  the 
long  graves.  Stockade  and  wall  were  repaired. 
Fresh  meat  was  trapped  and  shot  in  sheltered  valley 
and  rough  wood.  The  forge  rang  again  with  the 
clanging  of  sledges,  and  the  tracts  of  timber  with 
the  swinging  axes.  Hope  reawoke  in  hearts  long 
dismayed,  and  blood  ran  more  redly  to  the  stir 
of  work  and  freedom.  Master  Kingswell  gained 
fresh  strength  with  the  rounding  of  every  day,  and 


222  Brothers  of  Peril 

Mistress  Westleigh  recovered  all  her  glory  of  eyes 
and  lips  and  hair.  Ouenwa,  honoured  by  all,  car- 
ried himself  like  a  gentleman  and  a  warrior.  Black 
Feather,  with  his  wife  and  his  surviving  child  in 
a  snug  lodge,  felt  again  the  zest  and  peace  of  living. 
Only  Sir  Ralph  seemed  to  find  no  ray  of  comfort 
in  the  days  of  security.  He  brooded  alone,  avoid- 
ing even  his  daughter.  His  face  grew  thinner, 
and  his  shoulders  lost  something  of  their  youthful 
vigour.  The  desolation  and  bitterness  had,  at  last, 
dimmed  his  courage  and  his  philosophy.  The  very 
relief  at  Panounia's  defeat  and  D'Antons'  supposed 
overthrow  had,  somehow,  weakened  his  gallant  en- 
durance. He  counted  it  a  grievance  that  God  had 
not  led  him  to  his  death  in  the  last  fight,  as  he  had 
prayed  so  earnestly.  He  had  been  eager  then.  Now 
he  must  plan  it  over  again  —  over  and  over  —  in 
cold  reasoning  and  cold  blood,  and  alone  by  the 
fire.  A  foolish,  causeless  anger  got  hold  upon  him 
at  times;  and  again  he  would  be  all  repentance, 
telling  his  heart  that,  no  matter  how  bitter  his  fate, 
it  was  fully  deserved.  And  so,  day  by  day,  the 
shadows  grew  behind  his  brain,  and  a  little  seed 
of  madness  germinated  and  took  root. 

For  a  time  Beatrix  did  not  notice  the  change  in 
her  father's  manner  and  habits.  The  thing  dis- 
closed itself  so  gradually,  and  she  was  so  intent 


Cards   of  Both   Colours  223 

upon  the  nursing  of  her  lover;  and  yet  again,  the 
baronet  had  been  variable  in  his  moods,  to  a  certain 
extent,  ever  since  the  beginning  of  his  troubles  — 
years  enough  ago.  It  was  Ouenwa  who  first  saw 
that  something  had  gone  radically  wrong  in  the 
broken  gentleman's  mind,  and  his  knowledge  had 
come  about  in  this  wise. 

The  young  Beothic,  though  an  ardent  sportsman 
and  warrior,  was  a  still  more  ardent  seeker  after 
bookish  wisdom.  Kingswell,  before  his  hurt,  had 
taught  him  something  of  the  art  of  reading.  Later, 
Mistress  Westleigh  had  carried  it  further.  By  the 
time  that  Kingswell  was  safely  on  the  road  to  his 
old  health  and  a  mended  head,  Ouenwa  could  spell 
out  a  page  of  English  print  very  creditably.  His 
primer  was  one  of  those  volumes  of  Master  Will 
Shakespeare's  plays,  which  the  Frenchman  had  left 
behind  him.  One  day  Beatrix  entered  the  cabin 
to  take  her  turn  at  tending  the  invalid,  and  found 
Ouenwa  with  the  drama  in  his  hands,  and  his  youth- 
ful brow  painfully  furrowed  with  thought.  She 
took  the  book  from  him  and  fluttered  the  pages, 
pausing  here  and  there  to  read  a  line  or  two. 

"  Run  away,"  said  she,  "  and  on  a  shelf  beside 
our  chimney  you  will  find  a  book  with  easier  words 
than  this  contains.  There  is  matter  here,  I  think, 
that  is  beyond  a  beginner." 


224  Brothers   of  Peril 

At  that  Kingswell  raised  himself  to  his  elbow 
and  nodded  his  sore  head  eagerly. 

"  Ay,  lad,  run  and  find  yourself  an  easier  book," 
he  said. 

Nothing  loath,  for  his  quest  of  learning  was  sin- 
cere,— as  was  everything  about  him, — Ouenwa  left 
the  presence  of  the  lovers  and  ran  across  the  snow 
to  Sir  Ralph's  cabin.  He  told  his  errand  to  the 
baronet.  That  gentleman  looked  at  him  long  and 
keenly,  so  that  the  boy  trembled  and  wished  himself 
out  of  the  house.  Then,  with  a  sudden  start  and 
a  harsh  laugh,  "  Help  yourself,  lad,"  said  Sir 
Ralph.  Ouenwa  found  the  shelf  of  books,  and, 
kneeling  before  it,  was  soon  busy  looking  over  the 
divers  volumes  and  broad-sheets  with  which  it  was 
piled  high.  He  found  a  rhymed  and  pictured  chap- 
book  greatly  to  his  liking.  He  was  spelling  out  the 
first  verses  when  a  movement  behind  his  back 
brought  him  to  a  sense  of  his  whereabouts.  He 
turned  quickly.  There  stood  the  baronet,  with  a 
walking-cane  in  his  hand,  making  lunge  and  thrust 
at  a  spot  of  resin  on  the  log  wall.  The  poor  gentle- 
man stamped  and  straddled,  pinked  the  unseen 
swordsman,  and  parried  the  unseen  blade,  with  a 
dashing  air.  There  was  a  light  in  his  eyes  and 
a  twist  of  the  lips  that  struck  Ouenwa's  heart  cold 
in  his  side.  The  light  was  that  which,  when  seen 


Cards    of  Both    Colours  225 

in  the  eyes  of  a  man  of  a  primitive  people,  divides 
that  man  from  the  laws  and  responsibilities  that 
are  the  portion  of  his  fellows.  It  was  the  gleam 
of  idiocy  —  that  sinister  sheen  that  cuts  a  man  from 
his  birthright. 

The  boy  knelt  there,  motionless  with  fear,  with 
his  face  turned  over  his  shoulder.  He  watched 
every  movement  of  the  fantastic  exhibition  with 
fascinated  eyes.  He  fairly  held  his  breath,  so  ter- 
rible was  the  display  in  that  quiet,  dim-lit  room. 
Suddenly  the  baronet  lowered  the  point  of  the  mod- 
ish cane  smartly  to  the  floor,  and  turned  upon  the 
lad  with  a  smile,  an  embarrassed  flush  on  his  thin 
cheeks,  and  sane  eyes. 

"  Tis  a  pretty  art  —  this  of  the  French  rapier," 
he  said,  "  and  I  make  a  point  of  keeping  my  wrist 
limber  for  it." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Ouenwa. 

Sir  Ralph  flung  the  walking-cane  aside,  and  sat 
down  despondently  in  the  nearest  chair.  Ouenwa 
saw,  at  a  glance,  that  his  presence  was  already  for- 
gotten. With  furtive  movements  and  such  haste 
as  he  could  manage,  he  began  replacing  some  of 
the  books  and  selecting  others  to  carry  away  with 
him. 

"  Sweeting,"  said  the  baronet,  "  a  pipe  of  tobacco 
would  rest  me." 


226  Brothers   of  Peril 

Ouenwa  realized  that  the  gentleman,  in  his 
strange  mood,  believed  that  Mistress  Beatrix  was 
in  the  room;  but  Ouenwa  had  tact  enough  not 
to  point  out  the  little  mistake.  He  got  up  noise- 
lessly and  filled  the  bowl  of  a  long  pipe  from  a  great 
jar  on  the  chimney-piece.  He  took  a  splinter  of 
wood  from  the  basket  by  the  hearth  and  lit  it  at 
the  fire.  Stepping  softly  to  the  baronet's  side,  he 
placed  the  pipe  in  his  hand,  and  held  the  light  to 
the  tobacco  while  the  baronet  puffed  reflectively 
and  unseeingly.  Then  the  lad  gathered  up  his  books 
and  left  the  cabin.  Fear  of  Sir  Ralph's  wild  man- 
ner was  cold  in  his  veins. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 
PIERRE  D'ANTONS  PARRIES  ANOTHER  THRUST 

AND  now  to  tell  something  of  the  movements 
of  Pierre  d'Antons,  which,  of  late,  have  been  car- 
ried on  behind  the  screen  of  the  forest  and  beyond 
the  ken  of  the  reader. 

The  defeat  of  Panounia's  warriors,  on  that  night 
of  fire  and  blood,  knocked  the  adventurer's  fortunes 
flatter  than  they  had  ever  been.  You  may  believe 
that  he  cursed  Ouenwa  bitterly,  and  wished  that 
he  had  killed  him  long  ago,  when  the  lad  threw 
his  followers  into  the  battle.  It  was  then  that 
D'Antons  himself  left  his  post  beyond  the  scuffle, 
and,  with  desperate  efforts,  tried  to  turn  the  reverse 
back  to  victory.  His  swordsmanship  and  energy 
availed  him  nothing.  He  missed  capture  only  by 
slipping  the  buckle  of  his  sword-belt.  Then,  a  fugi- 
tive from  both  sides,  he  ran  to  the  woods,  avoiding 
the  scattered  and  retreating  warriors  who  had  so 
lately  been  struggling  in  his  behalf  as  fearfully  as 

he  would  have  avoided  William  Trigget  or   Sir 

227 


228  Brothers  of  Peril 

Ralph  Westjeigh.  One  of  his  late  comrades,  trail- 
ing wounded  limbs  along  the  snow,  hurled  a  Beo- 
thic  curse  after  him.  Another,  better  prepared,  let 
fly  a  war-club,  and  missed  him  by  an  inch.  He 
slashed  on,  through  the  underbrush,  the  drifts,  and 
the  dark,  sure  that  capture  by  any  of  the  defeated 
savages  would  mean  death  and  perhaps  torture. 

The  black  captain  did  not  run  on  any  vague 
course,  despite  his  haste.  He  knew  where  a  pos- 
sibility of  help  awaited  him.  He  had  given  his 
wits  to  more  than  plans  of  revenge  and  kidnapping 
during  his  sojourn  with  Panounia.  In  winning  the 
men  to  him,  he  knew  that  his  hold  upon  them  would 
not  outlast  defeat;  but  in  winning  the  love  of  the 
Beothic  maiden  Miwandi,  he  had  laid  up  store 
against  an  evil  day.  But  he  had  not  won  her  heart 
simply  on  a  chance  of  defeat  —  far  from  it,  for  he 
had  not  dreamed  of  such  a  chance.  It  was  a  pleas- 
ant thing  in  itself  to  be  the  lover  of  that  nut-brown, 
lithe-limbed,  warm-hearted  young  girl  —  for  Mi- 
wandi suspected  nothing  of  his  desire  for,  and  plans 
concerning,  the  lady  in  the  fort.  She  loved  the 
tall  foreigner  quickly  and  surely.  She  was  extrav- 
agantly proud  of  his  power  over  the  warriors  of 
her  people.  He  was  her  brave,  and  as  such  she 
cherished  him  openly,  to  the  envy  rather  than  the 
criticism  of  the  other  women  of  the  encampment. 


D'Antons   Parries  Another  Thrust    229 

Miwandi  was  the  daughter  of  a  lesser  chief  of 
Panounia's  faction.  She  was  seventeen  years  of 
age.  Her  skin  was  ruddy  brown,  darker  than  the 
skins  of  some  of  her  people  and  lighter  than  that 
of  others.  Her  hair  was  brown  and  of  a  silken  tex- 
ture, very  unlike  the  straight  locks  of  the  savages 
of  the  great  continent  to  the  westward.  Her  fea- 
tures were  good,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  life 
and  warmth.  D'Antons'  conquest  rankled  in  the 
breasts  of  more  than  one  of  the  young  bucks  of 
the  camp. 

Pierre  d'Antons,  fleeing  from  the  fighting  men 
of  both  parties,  shaped  his  course  for  the  lodge 
in  which  Miwandi  dwelt.  As  he  ran,  with  fear  at 
his  heels,  he  forgot  to  regret  the  girl  in  the  fort; 
instead,  a  pang  of  honest  affection  for  the  comely 
young  woman  toward  whom  he  was  flying  for  help 
stirred  in  him.  He  stumbled  into  the  lodge,  and 
Miwandi  caught  him  in  her  arms.  In  a  few  quick 
words,  he  told  her  of  the  defeat,  and  of  the  anger 
of  Panounia's  warriors  toward  him.  She  kissed 
him  once,  passionately,  and  then  fell  to  collecting 
a  few  things  —  a  quiver  of  arrows,  a  bow,  furs, 
and  some  food.  She  pressed  a  bundle  into  his  arms. 
He  accepted  it  without  a  word.  She  bound  her 
snow-shoes  to  her  feet,  and  retied  the  wrenched 
thongs  of  his.  Then  they  slipped  from  the  dark 


230  Brothers  of  Peril 

lodge  to  the  darker  woods;  and  his  sheathless 
sword,  damp  with  blood,  was  still  in  his  hand. 
They  heard  the  cries  of  the  wounded  behind  them, 
and  other  cries  that  inspired  them  to  flight. 

They  fled  for  hours,  without  pausing  to  ease  their 
breathing.  Of  the  two,  it  was  the  man  who  some- 
times lagged,  who  often  stumbled,  and  who  cried 
once  that  he  would  rather  be  captured  than  strain 
limb  and  lung  to  another  effort.  D'Antons  had 
been  actively  employed  throughout  the  day,  and 
again  during  the  most  desperate  passages  of  the 
battle,  and  his  strength  was  well-nigh  exhausted. 
At  last  he  fell  and  lay  prone.  In  an  instant  the 
girl  was  beside  him,  pillowing  his  head  and  shield- 
ing his  body  from  the  cold,  and  revived  him  with 
brandy  from  the  scanty  supply  in  his  flask.  By 
that  time  the  dawn  was  breaking  gray  under  the 
stars,  and  all  sounds  of  the  chase  had  died  away. 
She  cut  an  armful  of  fir-branches,  and  with  them 
and  the  skins  she  and  D'Antons  had  carried,  she 
made  a  rude  bed  and  a  yet  ruder  shelter.  So  they 
lay  until  high  noon,  fugitives  in  a  desolate  wilder- 
ness, with  death,  in  half  a  dozen  guises,  lurking 
on  either  hand. 

Behind  D'Antons  and  Miwandi,  the  broken  band 
of  Panounia's  followers  soon  gave  up  the  hunt. 
Matters  were  not  in  condition  to  be  mended  by 


D'Antons   Parries  Another  Thrust    231 

killing  a  long-faced  Frenchman  and  a  pretty  girl. 
The  defeated  savages  had  their  own  wounds  to  see 
to,  and  already  too  many  dead  to  hide  under  the 
snow.  A  matter  of  sentiment,  like  the  torturing 
and  killing  of  their  false  leader  D'Antons,  would 
have  to  wait.  Now,  of  all  those  valorous  warriors 
who  had  menaced  the  little  fort  since  the  very  be- 
ginning of  winter,  only  ten  remained  unhurt.  Pa- 
nounia  was  dead.  He  had  breathed  his  last  in  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  while  the  battle  was  still  raging, 
and  had  been  carried  farther  in  by  one  of  his  men. 
Thus  his  death  had  remained  unknown  to  the  vic- 
tors; as  had  also  the  deaths  of  many  more  of  the 
besiegers.  Wolf  Slayer,  that  courageous  savage  lad 
who  had  once  boasted  of  his  deeds  to  Ouenwa,  was 
desperately  hurt.  Painfully  and  hopelessly,  those 
of  the  wounded  who  could  move  at  all,  the  women, 
and  the  unhurt  of  the  band,  retreated  toward  far- 
ther and  surer  fastnesses.  'The  wounded  who  could 
not  drag  themselves  along  were  left  to  perish  in 
the  snow.  Some  were  frozen  stiff  before  morning. 
Some  bled  to  death  within  the  same  time.  A  few 
lived  until  they  were  discovered  by  Ouenwa's  men 
in  the  bright  daytime,  —  they  were  reported  as 
having  been  found  dead. 

D'Antons    and    Miwandi    travelled,    by    forced 
marches,  until  they  reached  a  wooded  valley  and 


232  Brothers  of  Peril 

a  narrow,  frozen  river.  Along  this  they  journeyed 
inland  and  southward.  At  last  they  found  a  spot 
that  promised  shelter  from  the  bleak  winds  as  well 
as  from  prying  eyes.  There  they  built  a  wigwam 
of  such  materials  as  were  at  hand.  Game  was  fairly 
plentiful  in  the  protected  coverts  around.  They 
soon  had  a  comfortable  retreat  fashioned  in  that 
safe  and  voiceless  place. 

"  It  will  do  until  summer  brings  the  ships,"  re- 
marked D'Antons,  busy  with  plans  whereby  he 
might  give  Dame  Fortune's  wheel  another  twirl. 
Sometimes  he  spent  whole  hours  in  telling  Miwandi 
brave  tales  of  far  and  beautiful  countries.  He  spoke 
of  white  towns  above  green  harbours,  of  high  for- 
ests with  strange,  bright  birds  flying  through  their 
tops,  and  of  wide  savannahs,  whereon  roved  herds 
of  great,  sharp-horned  beasts  of  more  weight  than 
a  stag  caribou. 

"  Oh,  but  you  do  not  mean  to  leave  me,  Heart- 
of-Life,"  she  cried. 

So  he  swore,  by  a  dozen  saints,  that  she,  Miwandi, 
should  be  his  queen  in  a  palace  of  white  stone  above 
a  tropic  sea. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

A   GRIM    TURN    OF    MARCH    MADNESS 

DAY  by  day,  Sir  Ralph  Westleigh's  mental  sick- 
ness increased.  It  strengthened  in  the  dark,  like 
a  blight  on  corn.  Very  gradually,  and  day  by  day, 
it  grew  over  the  bright  surface  of  his  mind  and 
spirit.  The  sureness  of  its  advance  was  a  fearful 
thing  to  watch. 

By  the  time  March  was  over  the  wilderness, 
with  a  hint  of  spring  in  the  morning  skies,  the 
baronet's  condition  was  noticeable  to  even  the  dull- 
est inmate  of  the  settlement.  The  poor  gentleman 
spoke  little  —  and  that  little  was  seldom  to  the 
point.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  forgotten  how  to 
smile,  or  even  to  make  a  pretence  at  mirth.  He 
walked  alone  for  hours  on  the  frozen  river  and 
through  the  woods.  The  Beothics  of  the  camp  be- 
fore the  fort  stood  in  awe  of  him.  At  times  he 
treated  Beatrix  and  Bernard  Kingswell  as  stran- 
gers; but  he  always  knew  Maggie  Stone,  and 
chided  her  often  on  the  scantiness  of  his  dinners. 

233 


234  Brothers  of  Peril 

All  day,  indoors  and  out,  he  wore  a  rapier  at  his 
side.  In  the  cabin  he  spent  half  of  the  time  inert 
by  the  fire,  without  book,  or  cards,  or  chess,  and 
the  rest  of  it  in  sword-play  with  an  imaginary  an- 
tagonist. 

It  was  well  for  Beatrix  that  she  had  found  Ber- 
nard's love  before  the  fresh  misfortune  descended 
upon  her.  But  even  with  that  comfort  and  inspira- 
tion, her  father's  derangement  affected  her  bitterly. 
They  had  been  such  friends ;  and  now  he  had  blank 
eyes  and  deaf  ears  for  all  her  actions  and  words. 
It  was  twenty  times  harder  for  her  than  to  have 
seen  him  struck  down  by  knife  or  arrow.  Death 
seemed  an  honest  thing  compared  to  that  coldness 
and  vagueness  of  spirit  that  gathered  more  thickly 
about  him  with  the  passing  of  each  day.  It  was 
as  if  another  life,  another  spirit,  had  taken  pos- 
session of  the  familiar  body  and  beloved  features. 
After  two  weeks  neither  her  kisses  nor  her  tears 
had  any  potency  to  break  through  the  awful 
estrangement.  Her  prayers,  her  fond  recollections 
of  their  old  companionship,  brought  no  gleam  to  the 
dull  eye. 

By  the  end  of  March  the  busy  boat-builders  and 
smiths  of  the  settlement  —  and  every  man  save  Sir 
Ralph  was  either  one  or  the  other  —  had  two  new 
boats  all  but  completed.  They  were  staunch  crafts, 


A   Grim   Turn   of  March   Madness    235 

of  about  the  capacity  and  model  of  the  Pelican. 
They  were  intended  for  fishing  on  the  river  and 
the  great  bays  and  for  exploration  cruises. 

William  Trigget,  who  was  a  master  shipbuilder 
as  he  was  a  master  mariner,  entertained  great  ideas 
of  fishing  and  trading  more  openly  than  Sir  Ralph 
had  sanctioned  in  the  past.  He  was  for  carving 
out  a  real  home  in  the  wilderness,  and  his  wife 
was  of  the  same  mind. 

"  We  couldn't  bear  to  leave  the  boy's  grave," 
he  said. 

Kingswell  promised  that,  should  he  win  back  to 
Bristol,  and  find  his  affairs  in  order,  he  would  use 
his  influence  in  behalf  of  the  settlement  on  Gray 
Goose  River.  Donnelly,  too,  was  all  for  holding 
to  the  new  land. 

"  It  be  rough,  God  knows,"  he  said,  "  but  it  be 
sort  o'  hopeful,  too.  If  they  danged  savages  leaves 
us  alone,  an'  trade's  decent,  I  be  for  spendin'  the 
balance  o'  my  days  alongside  o'  Skipper  Trigget. 
There  be  a  grave  yonder  the  missus  an'  me  wouldn't 
turn  our  backs  on,  not  if  we  could  help  it." 

Kingswell  himself  was  not  building  any  dreams 
of  fixing  his  lot  in  that  desolate  place ;  and  neither 
was  old  Tom  Bent,  though  he  spoke  little  on  the 
subject.  Ouenwa's  ambitions  continued  to  point 
overseas.  Beatrix,  now  despondent  at  her  father's 


236  Brothers  of  Peril 

trouble,  and  again  happy  in  her  love,  gave  little 
thought  to  the  future  of  the  settlement,  or  to  any 
plans  for  the  days  to  come,  save  vague  dreamings 
of  an  English  home. 

March  wore  along,  and  in  open  spaces  the  snow 
shrank  inch  by  inch.  Then  rain  fell;  and  after 
that  a  time  of  tingling  cold  held  all  the  wilderness 
in  a  ringing  white  imprisonment.  A  man  could 
run  over  the  snow-fields  and  the  bed  of  the  river 
without  snow-shoes;  for  the  surface  was  tough 
as  wood,  white  as  the  shield  of  that  sinless  knight, 
Sir  Galahad,  and  glistening  as  a  thousand  diamonds. 
The  mornings  lifted  clear  silver  and  pale  gold  along 
the  east.  The  evenings  faded  out  in  crimson  and 
saffron,  and  the  twilights,  even  when  the  stars  were 
lit,  made  of  the  dome  of  heaven  a  bubble  of  thin- 
nest green.  And  back  of  it  all,  despite  the  frost, 
hung  a  suggestion  of  sap-reddened  twigs  and  blos- 
soming trees. 

The  lure  of  the  season  touched  every  one  in  the 
fort,  and  the  camp  beside  it.  It  ran  in  Sir  Ralph's 
blood  like  some  fabled  wine  —  for  what  vintage  of 
France  or  Spain  is  the  stuff  of  which  the  poets  sing. 
It  mounted  to  his  head  with  a  high,  unregretting 
recklessness,  and  doubled  the  madness  that  already 
lurked  there.  Something  of  his  old  manner  re- 
turned, and  for  a  whole  evening  he  sat  with  Bea- 


A   Grim  Turn  of  March  Madness   237 

trix  and  Kingswell  and  talked  rationally  and  hope- 
fully. Also,  that  same  night,  he  played  a  game 
of  chess.  He  spoke  of  the  future  as  one  who  sees 
into  it  clearly  and  without  fear.  He  recalled  the 
past  without  any  sign  of  embarrassment.  But 
Kingswell,  meeting  his  eyes  by  chance,  caught  a 
light  of  derision  in  them. 

Very  early  in  the  morning,  while  the  stars  still 
glinted  overhead,  and  the  promise  of  day  was  no 
more  than  a  strip  of  pearl  along  the  east,  Sir 
Ralph  Westleigh  unbarred  the  door  of  his  cabin 
and  slipped  out.  He  was  warmly  and  carefully 
dressed  in  furs  and  moccasins.  He  carried  his 
sword  free  under  his  arm.  Very  cautiously  he 
scaled  the  palisade  and  dropped  to  the  frozen  crust 
of  snow  outside.  The  Beothic  encampment  lay 
around  the  corner  of  the  fort,  so  he  was  safe  from 
detection  from  that  quarter.  He  looked  about  and 
behind  with  a  cunning  smile.  Then  he  ran  lightly 
into  the  woods. 

Sir  Ralph  followed  his  aimless  course  for  miles, 
and  his  soft-shod  feet  left  no  mark  on  the  hard 
surface  of  the  snow.  Then  the  sun  slid  up  and  over, 
and  in  the  warmth  of  high  noon  the  frozen  crust 
of  the  wilderness  thawed  a  little,  and  here  and  there 
the  baronet's  feet  broke  through.  At  that  he  began 
to  feel  fatigue  and  a  disconcerting  pang  of  doubt. 


238  Brothers  of  Peril 

He  flung  himself  down  in  a  little  thicket  of  spruces, 
and  called  for  Maggie  Stone  to  bring  him  food  and 
drink.  He  called  again  and  again.  He  shouted 
other  names  than  that  of  the  old  servant.  In  a 
sudden  agony  of  fear,  he  jumped  to  his  feet  and 
plunged  through  the  evergreens.  At  every  third 
step  he  sank  to  his  knee,  or  half-way  up  his  thigh. 
He  screamed  the  name  of  his  daughter,  "  Beatrix, 
Beatrix1"  —  or  was  it  his  dead  wife  he  was  calling? 
He  cried  for  guidance  to  many  great  gentlemen 
of  England  who  had  been  his  boon  companions  in 
the  old  days,  forgetting  that  death  had  taken  some 
of  them  away  from  him,  and  that  the  rest,  to  a 
man,  had  turned  of  their  own  accord.  Presently 
he  ceased  his  foolish  outcry  and  plodded  along,  with 
no  thought  of  the  course,  sobbing  the  while  like 
a  lost  child. 

The  sun  began  its  downward  journey,  and  still 
the  baronet,  with  his  sheathed  sword  under  his  arm, 
staggered  across  the  voiceless  wilderness.  Toward 
mid-afternoon  the  thawing  crust  froze  again,  and 
he  travelled  with  less  difficulty.  Ever  and  anon 
his  poor  eyes  pictured  a  running  figure  in  an  edge 
of  blue  shadow  before  him.  At  times  it  was  the 
figure  of  the  nobleman  he  had  killed  in  England, 
in  the  dispute  at  the  gaming-table,  and  again  it 
was  a  friend,  —  Kingswell  or  Trigget,  or  another 


A  Grim  Turn  of  March   Madness   239 

of  the  fort,  —  and  yet  again  it  was  Pierre  d' Antons. 
But  no  matter  how  he  strove  to  run  down  the 
lurker,  he  lost  him  every  time.  Thirst  plagued  him, 
and  he  ate  the  clear  ice  and  snow  off  the  fronds 
of  the  spruces.  Hunger  gnawed  him  awhile,  but 
passed  gradually.  The  west  took  on  the  flame  and 
glory  of  sunset.  The  east  darkened.  The  stars 
pricked  through  the  high  shell  of  the  sky.  Night 
gathered  her  cloudless  darkness  over  the  wilderness ; 
and  still  the  demented  baronet  followed  his  aimless 
quest. 

Toward  evening  of  the  day  following  Sir  Ralph 
Westleigh's  departure  from  Fort  Beatrix,  Pierre 
d' Antons  and  Miwandi  were  startled  by  the  sudden 
and  noiseless  appearance  of  a  gaunt  and  wild-eyed 
person  in  the  doorway  of  their  lodge.  The  woman 
cried  out,  and  ran  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
wigwam.  D'Antons  staggered  back,  and  his  face 
turned  gray  as  the  ashes  around  the  fire-stone.  The 
unexpected  visitor  drew  his  blade,  flung  the  sheath 
behind  him  on  the  snow,  and  advanced  upon  the 
fugitive  adventurer.  D'Antons  sprang  back  and 
caught  up  his  own  sword  from  where  it  lay  on 
a  couch  of  branches  and  skins.  He  swore,  more 
in  wonder  than  anger. 

"  Westleigh  !  "  he  cried.  "  What  brings  you  here, 
you  fool  —  and  how  many  follow  you?" 


240  Brothers  of  Peril 

The  baronet  halted  and  glanced  quickly  over  his 
shoulder.  He  reeled  a  little,  but  his  eyes  changed  in 
their  light  and  colour. 

"  I  am  alone,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  I  am  alone."  His 
voice  was  quiet.  He  seemed  sorely  puzzled.  D'An- 
tons'  face  regained  its  swarthy  tints,  and  he  laughed 
harshly. 

"  So  you  have  hunted  me  down,  old  cock,"  he 
said,  smiling.  "  You'll  find  that  the  quarry  has 
fangs  —  in  his  own  den." 

The  red  of  madness  returned  to  Sir  Ralph's  eyes. 
He  advanced  his  rapier.  In  a  second  the  fight  was 
on.  For  a  few  minutes  the  strength  of  insanity 
supported  the  baronet's  starving  muscles  and  reel- 
ing brain.  Then  his  thrusts  began  to  go  wide,  and 
his  guard  to  waver.  A  clean  lunge  dropped  him 
in  the  door  of  the  lodge  without  a  cry.  The  life- 
blood  of  the  last  baronet  of  Beverly  and  Randon 
made  a  vivid  circle  of  red  on  the  snow  of  that  name- 
less wilderness. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE   RUNNING   OF   THE  ICE 

IT  was  Beatrix  who  first  discovered  her  father's 
flight ;  but  that  was  four  hours  after  its  occurrence. 
The  fort  wa,s  soon  astir  with  the  news.  Men  set 
out  in  all  directions,  in  search  of  the  missing  one. 
Half  a  dozen  of  the  friendly  Beothics  joined  in  the 
hunt.  They  went  east  and  west,  north  and  south. 
The  sharpest  eyes  could  detect  no  trail  of  the  mad- 
man's feet.  Beatrix  insisted  upon  accompanying 
Bernard  and  Ouenwa.  She  tried  to  show  a  brave 
face ;  but  something  in  her  heart  told  her  to  expect 
the  worst.  The  three  travelled  southward,  and 
shortly  before  sunset  returned  to  the  fort,  unsuccess- 
ful. They  found  that  all  the  other  searchers  had 
got  back,  save  Black  Feather  and  a  young  brave 
named  Kakatoc,  who  had  set  out  together. 

By  the  merest  chance  Black  Feather  and  his  com- 
panion happened  upon  the  place  where  the  baronet 
had  first  broken  through  the  melting  crust.  With 
but  little  effort  they  found  where  he  had  rested 


242  Brothers   of  Peril 

and  taken  up  his  journey  again.  Farther  on,  the 
faintness  of  the  trail  put  an  edge  to  their  determina- 
tion to  find  the  unfortunate  gentleman.  It  was  a 
challenge  to  their  woodcraft,  and  they  accepted  it 
eagerly.  But  within  two  hours  of  finding  the  marks, 
they  lost  them  again.  They  ranged  wide ;  and  at  last 
Black  Feather  discovered  a  footprint  in  a  little  pad 
of  snow  beside  a  stunted  spruce.  In  several  places 
the  branches  of  the  tree  showed  where  the  snow 
had  been  broken  away,  as  if  by  a  man's  hand.  It 
was  enough  to  keep  them  to  the  quest. 

Not  in  the  next  day,  but  in  the  early  morning 
after  that,  the  two  Beothics  happened  upon  a  shel- 
tered valley  and  a  snow-cleared  space,  with  a  fire- 
stone  in  the  middle  of  it,  where  a  lodge  had  lately 
stood.  As  for  signs  of  blood,  there  were  none. 
Snow  had  been  deftly  spread  and  trampled  over 
it.  All  around  the  so  evident  site  of  a  human 
habitation  the  hard  crust  gleamed  unbroken,  save 
for  a  little  path  that  ran  down  to  a  hole  in  the  ice 
of  the  stream.  After  considering  the  place,  and 
shaking  their  heads,  the  two  ate  the  last  of  the  food 
they  had  in  their  pouches  and  turned  their  feet  back 
to  the  fort.  They  passed  within  a  few  paces  of 
a  dense  thicket,  in  the  heart  of  which  the  baronet's 
body  lay  uncovered.  But  how  were  they  to  know 


The   Running  of  the   Ice         243 

it,  when  even  the  prowling  foxes  had  not  yet  found 
it  out ! 

For  several  days  the  search  was  continued  by 
the  settlers  and  their  allies,  but  all  in  vain.  It  was 
not  even  suspected  that  the  deserted  camping-place 
which  Black  Feather  and  Kakatoc  had  seen  had  so 
lately  been  warmed  by  the  feet  of  Pierre  d'Antons 
and  the  blood  of  the  lost  baronet.  For  a  few  days 
longer  the  business  of  the  settlement  lagged,  and 
the  place  wore  an  air  of  mourning,  despite  the  ever- 
brightening  and  mellowing  season.  Then  the  axes 
struck  up  their  chant  again,  and  the  little  duties  of 
the  common  day  erased  the  forebodings  of  Eter- 
nity from  the  minds  of  the  pioneers.  Only  Mistress 
Beatrix  could  see  nothing  of  the  reawakening  of 
life  and  hope  for  the  sorrow  in  her  heart  and  the 
mist  across  her  eyes.  She  had  loved  her  father 
deeply  and  faithfully,  with  a  love  that  had  been 
strengthened  by  his  misfortunes.  She  had  felt 
toward  him  the  combined  affections  of  daughter 
and  sister  and  friend.  She  had  made  allowances 
for  the  weaknesses  of  his  later  years  that  equalled 
the  ever  charitable  devotion  of  a  parent  for  a  best- 
loved  child.  She  had  not  been,  and  was  not  now, 
blind  to  the  passion  of  gaming  that  had  forced 
him  to  exile  and  an  unknown  death;  but  she  had 
forgiven  it  long  ago.  As  to  the  alleged  murder 


244  Brothers  of  Peril 

that  had  made  such  an  evil  odour  in  London,  she 
believed  —  and  rightly  —  that  hot  blood  and  over- 
much wine  had  been  to  blame,  and  that  her  father's 
sword  had  been  drawn  after  the  victim's. 

Bernard  Kingswell  did  all  in  his  power  to  com- 
fort the  bereaved  girl.  He  urged  her  to  spend  much 
of  her  time  out-of-doors.  He  told  his  plans  for 
their  future,  and  to  cheer  her  he  built  them  even 
more  hopefully  than  he  felt;  for  he  realized  that 
many  difficulties  were  yet  to  be  overcome  before 
Bristol  was  safely  reached.  With  Ouenwa,  the  two 
often  went  on  long  tramps  through  the  woods. 
Their  evenings  were  always  spent  together.  Some- 
times he  read  aloud  to  her,  and  sometimes  they 
played  at  chess.  One  evening  she  got  her  violin, 
and  played  as  wonderfully  as  she  had  on  that  other 
occasion;  but  instead  of  leaving  him  afterward 
without  a  word,  as  she  had  done,  she  laid  the  fiddle 
aside  and  nestled  into  his  arms.  He  held  her  ten- 
derly, patting  the  bright  hair  against  his  shoulder, 
and  murmuring  broken  assurances  of  his  love  and 
sympathy.  She  wept  quietly  for  a  little  while ;  but 
when  she  kissed  him  at  the  door,  her  face  and  eyes 
shone  with  something  of  their  old  light. 

By  mid-April  knobs  of  rock  and  moss  pierced 
through  the  shrinking  snow  in  the  open  places ;  but 
in  the  woods  the  drifts  continued  to  withstand  the 


The  Running  of  the  Ice         245 

wasting  breath  of  the  spring  winds.  Gray  Goose 
River  was  no  longer  a  broad  path  of  spotless  white. 
Its  surface  was  mottled  with  patches  of  sodden 
gray;  and  an  attentive  listener  on  the  bank  might 
hear  a  myriad  of  tiny  voices,  some  sibilant  and 
some  tinkling  and  liquid,  in  and  under  the  enfee- 
bled ice.  Up  and  down  the  valley,  between  the 
knolls  and  wooded  hills,  the  little  streams  were 
already  snarling  and  roaring,  and  here  and  there 
flashing  brown  shoulders  to  the  sunlight.  Through 
all  the  wilderness  ran  a  tingling  whisper;  and  twi- 
light, midnight,  and  dawn  were  stirred  by  the  falling 
cries  of  wild-fowl  on  the  wing.  A  faint,  alluring 
fragrance  was  in  the  air  —  the  scent  of  millions  of 
swelling  buds  and  crimson  willow-stems. 

About  that  time  three  warriors  of  the  following 
of  the  dead  Panounia  arrived  at  the  fort,  with  pray- 
ers for  peace  on  their  lips  and  gifts  in  their  hands. 
They  were  received  by  Kingswell,  William  Trigget, 
and  Ouenwa  from  the  fort,  and  Black  Feather  and 
two  of  his  chiefs  from  the  camp.  A  lengthy  busi- 
ness was  gone  through  with,  and  much  strong  Vir- 
ginian tobacco  was  burned.  Documents  were  writ- 
ten in  English  and  in  the  picture-writing  of  the 
natives,  and  read  aloud,  by  Ouenwa,  in  both  lan- 
guages. Then  they  were  solemnly  signed  by  all 
present,  and  peace  was  restored  to  the  great  tribe 


246  Brothers   of  Peril 

of  the  North,  and  protection,  trade,  and  lands  were 
granted  for  all  time  to  the  inhabitants  of  Fort  Bea- 
trix and  their  descendants.  The  three  visitors  went 
back  to  their  people  with  rolls  of  red  cloth  and 
packets  of  glass  beads,  pot-metal  knives,  and  other 
useless  trinkets  on  their  shoulders. 

Shortly  after  their  departure  from  the  fort,  a 
storm  of  rain  blew  up  from  the  sou' east.  All  day 
the  great  drops  thumped  on  the  roofs  of  the  cabins, 
on  the  skies  of  the  lodges,  and  spattered  on  the 
sodden  snow.  The  firs  and  spruces  gleamed  clean 
and  black  under  the  drenching  showers.  A  veil 
of  smoke-gray  mist  lay  above  the  farther  woods 
and  along  the  black  tangles  of  alders  and  gray 
fringes  of  willows.  All  night  the  warm  rain  con- 
tinued to  fall  and  drift.  When  morning  lifted  along 
the  pearly  east,  a  cry  rang  from  the  camp  to  the 
fort  that  the  ice  in  the  river  was  moving.  The 
settlers  hastened  to  the  flat  before  the  stockade. 
Beatrix  was  with  them. 

"  See  how  the  torn  edge  of  ice  overtops  the  bank," 
said  Kingswell,  pointing  eagerly.  "  And  there  is 
an  open  space.  Ah,  it  has  closed  again!  How 
slowly  it  grinds  along!  " 

"  It  will  run  faster  before  night,"  replied  the  girl, 
and  Ouenvva,  who  was  versed  in  the  ways  of  his 
northern  rivers,  nodded  silently. 


The  Running  of  the   Ice         247 

While  they  watched,  admiring  the  swelling, 
swinging,  ponderous  advance  of  the  great  surface, 
and  harkening  to  the  booming  thunder  of  its  agony 
that  filled  the  air,  a  breathless  runner  joined  the 
group  and  spoke  a  few  quick  words  to  Black 
Feather.  That  chief  approached  Ouenwa  and  whis- 
pered in  his  ear.  The  boy  glanced  quickly  at  Bea- 
trix and  Kingswell,  and  then  questioned  Black 
Feather  anxiously.  Presently  he  turned  back  to 
the  lovers. 

"  The  ice  is  stuck  down-stream,"  he  said.  "  Blue 
Cloud  has  seen  it.  He  fears  that  the  water  will  rise 
over  the  flat  —  and  the  fort." 

The  river  continued  to  rise  until  evening.  After 
that  the  waters  subsided  a  little,  great  cakes  of 
rotten  ice  hung  stranded  along  the  crest  of  the 
bank,  and  the  main  body  ceased  to  run  downward. 
But  from  up  the  valley  the  thunder  of  a  hidden 
disturbance  still  boomed  across  the  windless  air. 

"  The  jam  had  broken  down-stream,"  said 
Ouenwa. 

Kingswell,  unused  to  the  ways  of  running  ice, 
was  satisfied,  and  retired  to  his  couch  with  an  easy 
mind.  He  slept  soundly  until,  in  the  gray  of  the 
dawn,  Ouenwa  shook  him  roughly,  and  all  but 
dragged  him  to  the  floor. 

"  Wake  up,  wake  up,"  cried  the  boy.     "  Damn, 


248  Brothers  of  Peril 

but  you  sleep  like  a  bear!     The  fort  is  in  danger! 
We  must  run  for  higher  land." 

"Rip  me!"  exclaimed  Kingswell,  springing  to 
his  feet,  "  but  what  is  the  trouble  ?  Are  we  at- 
tacked?" 

"  The  river  is  all  but  empty  of  water,"  replied 
Ouenwa.  "  The  ice  sags  in  the  channel,  like  an 
empty  garment.  The  water  hangs  above,  behind 
the  third  point  where  we  cut  the  timber  for  the 
boats." 

Kingswell,  all  the  while,  was  busily  employed 
pulling  on  his  heavy  clothes.  Though  he  did  not 
fully  understand  the  threatening  danger,  he  felt 
that  it  was  real  enough.  While  he  tied  the  thongs 
of  his  deerhide  leggins,  Ouenwa  told  him  that  warn- 
ing had  reached  the  fort  but  a  few  minutes  before. 

"How?"  inquired  Kingswell,  hurriedly  bestow- 
ing a  wallet  of  gold  coins  and  some  other  valuables 
about  his  person. 

Ouenwa,  already  loaded  down  with  his  friend's 
possessions,  threw  open  the  door  and  stepped  out. 

"  Wolf  Slayer  brought  it,"  he  said,  over  his 
shoulder.  "  And  I  do  not  understand,"  he  added, 
"  for  Wolf  Slayer  hates  us  all." 

The  other,  close  at  his  heels,  made  no  comment 
on  that  intelligence.  He  scarcely  heard  it,  so 
anxious  was  he  for  the  safety  of  Mistress  Beatrix. 


The   Running  of  the  Ice         249 

The  whole  fort  was  astir;  but  Kingswell  ran 
straight  to  his  sweetheart's  door.  It  was  opened 
by  the  maiden  herself.  She  and  the  old  servant 
were  all  ready  to  leave. 

An  hour  passed;  load  after  load  of  stores  and 
household  goods  was  carried  to  the  low  hills  be- 
hind the  fort;  and  still  the  river  lay  empty,  with 
its  marred  sheet  of  ice  sagging  between  the  banks; 
and  still  the  unseen  jam  held  back  the  gathering 
freshet.  The  women  wept  at  the  thought  that  their 
little  homes  were  in  danger  of  being  broken  and 
torn  and  whirled  away.  But  Beatrix  was  dry-eyed. 

"  It  will  be  no  great  matter  for  them  to  build 
new  cabins  in  a  safer  place,"  she  said  to  Kingswell. 

He  was  looking  at  the  natives  dragging  their 
rolled-up  lodges  to  higher  ground.  He  turned, 
smiling  gravely. 

"  You  have  no  love  for  the  wilderness  ? "  he 
asked,  "  and  yet  but  for  this  forsaken  place,  you 
and  I  might  never  have  met." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  lifted  a  flushed 
face  to  his  tender  regard. 

"  So  it  has  served  my  turn,"  she  said.  "  Now 
that  I  have  you,  I  could  well  spare  these  wastes 
of  black  wood  and  empty  barren." 

Kingswell  had  been  waiting  patiently  and  in 
silence  for  that  confession  ever  since  their  betrothal. 


250  Brothers  of  Peril 

Hitherto  she  had  not  once  spoken  with  any  assur- 
ance of  their  future  together.  She  had  treated  the 
subject  vaguely,  as  if  her  thoughts  were  all  with 
the  past  and  with  the  tragedy  of  her  father's  death. 

"  Would  you  face  the  homeward  voyage  in  one 
of  the  little  boats  ?  "  he  asked,  softly. 

"  Ay,  with  you  at  the  tiller,"  she  replied. 

"  Dear  girl,"  he  said,  "  I  think  that  a  stout  ship 
called  the  Heart  of  the  West  will  be  setting  sail 
from  Bristol,  for  this  wilderness,  before  many 
days." 

"  Would  the  fellow  dare  return  ?  "  she  asked ; 
for  she  had  heard  the  story  of  Trowley's  treachery. 

"  He  will  think  himself  safe  enough,"  replied 
Kingswell.  "  No  doubt  he  owns  the  ship  now 
—  has  bought  it  from  my  mother  for  the  price 
of  a  skiff,  after  telling  her  how  recklessly  he  bat- 
tled with  the  savages  to  save  her  son's  life." 

He  laughed  softly.  "  The  old  rogue  will  be  sur- 
prised when  I  step  aboard,"  he  added. 

Before  she  could  answer  him  a  booming  report 
shook  the  sunlit  air.  It  was  followed,  in  a  second, 
by  a  long-drawn  tumult  —  a  grinding  and  crashing 
and  roaring  —  as  if  the  firmament  had  fallen  and 
overthrown  the  everlasting  hills.  The  sagging  ice 
below  them  reared,  domed  upward,  and  split  with 
clapping  thunders.  It  broke  its  plunging  masses, 


The  Running  of  the  Ice         251 

which  were  hurled  down  the  stream  and  over  the 
flats.  A  thing  of  brown  water  and  sodden  gray 
lumps  tore  the  alders  and  swung  across  the  meadow 
where  the  Beothic  encampment  had  stood  an  hour 
before.  The  eastern  stockade  of  the  fort  went  down 
beneath  its  inevitable,  crushing  onslaught. 

All  day  cakes  and  pans  of  sodden  ice  and  snow 
raced  down  the  river,  and  the  air  hummed  and 
vibrated  with  their  clamour.  But  the  weight  of  the 
released  waters  had  passed;  and  the  fort  had  suf- 
fered by  no  more  than  an  exposed  side. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

WOLF   SLAYER    COMES   AND   GOES;     AND   TROWLEY 
RECEIVES    A    VISITOR 

WOLF  SLAYER,  who  had  brought  warning  of  the 
menace  of  the  freshet  to  Fort  Beatrix,  soon  showed 
his  evil  hand.  He  had  arrived  at  the  fort  in  a 
starving  condition  and  still  weak  from  wounds  re- 
ceived in  the  battle  in  which  his  father  had  been 
killed.  Had  he  been  well  and  rilled  with  meat, 
he  would  undoubtedly  have  let  the  inmates  of  the 
fort  and  the  camp  lie  in  ignorance  of  the  danger. 
For  ten  days  he  was  fed  and  cared  for  by  the  set- 
tlers. By  the  end  of  that  time,  he  felt  himself 
again.  The  old  arrogance  burned  in  his  eyes;  the 
old  sneer  returned  to  his  lips.  Ouenwa  read  the 
signs  and  wondered  how  the  deviltry  would  show 
itself  under  such  unpropitious  circumstances. 

Ouenwa's  sleep  was  light  and  fitful  on  the  tenth 
night  after  the  overflowing  of  the  river.  About 
midnight  he  awoke,  turned  over,  and  could  not 
get  back  to  his  dreams.  So  he  lay  wide-awake, 

352 


Wolf  Slayer   Comes  and   Goes     253 

thinking  of  the  future.  He  could  hear  Bernard 
Kingswell's  peaceful  breathing.  He  thought  of  his 
friend,  and  his  heart  warmed  to  him  with  gratitude 
and  comrade-love.  He  thought  of  Beatrix,  smiled 
wistfully  in  the  darkness,  and  put  the  bright  vision 
away  from  him.  What  was  that?  He  breathed 
more  softly  and  lifted  his  head.  Was  it  fancy,  or 
—  or  what?  He  shifted  noiselessly  to  the  farther 
edge  of  the  couch.  A  hand  brushed  along  his  pil- 
low of  folded  blanket.  Next  moment  he  gripped  an 
unseen  wrist  and  closed  with  a  silent  enemy. 

Minutes  passed  before  the  wrestlers  stumbled 
against  a  stool,  with  a  clatter  that  startled  Kings- 
well  to  his  feet.  The  Englishman  leaped  to  the 
hearth,  kicked  the  fallen  coals  to  life,  and  threw  a 
roll  of  birch  bark  on  top  of  them.  Then  he  stepped 
aside  until  the  yellow  flame  lighted  the  room.  The 
illumination  was  just  in  time,  for  Wolf  Slayer  had 
the  lighter  boy  on  the  floor  and  the  knife  raised, 
when  Kingswell  saw  his  way  to  the  rescue.  He 
recognized  the  youth,  and  in  a  fit  of  English  indig- 
nation at  such  a  return  for  hospitality  caught  him 
by  neck  and  belt  and  hurled  him  bodily  from  the 
prostrate  Ouenwa.  Wolf  Slayer  alighted  on  his 
feet,  snatched  open  the  door  (which  he  had  left 
ajar),  and  fled  into  the  darkness. 


254  Brothers   of  Peril 

A  morning  of  late  May  brought  a  friendly  native 
to  Fort  Beatrix,  with  word  that  three  English  ships 
were  in  Wigwam  Harbour.  Then  Ouenwa  and 
Tom  Bent  made  the  journey  and  returned,  in  due 
season,  with  the  welcome  news  that  one  of  the  ves- 
sels was  the  Heart  of  the  West. 

Both  the  new  boats  and  the  old  Pelican  were 
made  ready  for  the  expedition.  Kingswell  com- 
manded the  Pelican,  with  Ouenwa  and  six  natives 
for  crew.  Tom  Bent  was  put  in  charge  of  the 
second  boat,  and  Black  Feather  of  the  third.  Will- 
iam Trigget  and  Donnelly  were  left  to  see  that 
no  harm  came  to  Mistress  Westleigh  —  and,  as 
the  boats  stole  down-stream,  in  the  gray  of  the 
dawn,  William  Trigget  treasured  in  his  hand  a 
duly  witnessed  document,  in  which  Bernard  Kings- 
well,  gentleman,  of  Bristol,  bequeathed  and  willed 
all  his  earthly  goods  to  Beatrix  Westleigh,  spinster, 
of  Fort  Beatrix,  in  the  Newfounde  Land,  and  late 
of  Beverly  and  Randon,  in  Somersetshire,  England. 

The  parting  between  Beatrix  and  her  lover  had 
been  a  fond  one,  but  the  man  had  noticed  (and  in 
his  heart  regretted)  the  fortitude  with  which  she 
bade  him  farewell  and  godspeed.  He  worried  about 
it  in  his  sleep,  and  again,  as  he  looked  longingly  at 
her  cabin  in  the  bleak  dawn.  He  tried  to  comfort 
himself  with  memories  of  a  hundred  incidents  that 


255 


placed  the  sincerity  of  her  love  beyond  a  shadow  of 
doubt.  But,  for  all  that,  she  might  have  shed  a 
few  tears.  Surely  she  realized  the  chances  of  dan- 
ger ?  —  the  risk  he  was  running,  for  her  sake  ? 
Love  is  edged  and  barbed  by  just  such  little  and 
unreasonable  questionings. 

A  white  mist  wreathed  along  the  surface  of  Gray 
Goose  River  when  the  three  boats  swung  down  with 
the  current.  The  Beothics  were  armed  with  Eng- 
lish knives.  There  were  no  firearms  aboard  any 
of  the  little  vessels.  Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  had 
swords  at  their  belts,  and  Spanish  daggers  for  their 
left  hands.  Tom  Bent  was  armed  with  his  oft- 
proved  cutlass. 

The  sun  did  not  get  above  the  horizon  until  the 
little  fleet  was  clear  of  the  river's  mouth.  There  a 
breath  of  wind  sighed  through  the  cordage,  and 
the  sails  flapped  up  and  rounded  softly.  Kingswell 
leaned  forward  and  looked  under  the  square  can- 
vas of  the  Pelican's  big  wing. 

"  An  extra  man,"  he  remarked  to  Ouenwa, 
sharply.  "  Who  has  taken  it  upon  himself  to  im- 
prove on  my  orders?" 

A  blanket-swathed  figure,  forward  of  the  mast, 
turned  and  crawled  aft.  Then  the  blanket  fell 
away,  and  Mistress  Westleigh,  rigged  out  in  an 


256  Brothers  of  Peril 

amazing  mixture  of  masculine  and  feminine  attire, 
laughed  up  at  the  commander. 

"  Promise  to  shield  me  from  the  wrath  of  Mag- 
gie Stone,  when  we  go  back,"  she  whispered,  in 
mock  concern. 

For  a  moment  Bernard  stared,  with  wonder  and 
embarrassment  in  his  eyes,  the  while  Ouenwa  hid 
a  smile.  Then  he  doffed  his  hat  and  caught  the 
queer  figure  to  his  knee;  and  in  the  flush  of  the 
morning,  under  the  grave  regard  of  the  Beothic 
warriors,  he  kissed  her  on  lips  and  brow. 

"  What  authority  has  Maggie  Stone?  "  he  cried. 
"If  any  one  has  a  right  to  control  your  actions, 
surely  it  is  I." 

She  slipped  to  the  seat  beside  him.  "  And  you 
told  me  I  could  not  accompany  you  —  that  it  would 
not  be  safe,"  she  replied. 

"  Ay,  but  it  was  my  duty  to  bid  you  remain 
behind,"  he  said.  "  God  knows  it  hurt  me  to  refuse 
your  so  —  so  flattering  a  wish.  But  you  accepted 
it  calmly,  dear  heart." 

"  I  accepted  it  for  what  it  was  worth,"  she 
laughed.  "  I  could  not  shed  tears  over  a  parting 
which  I  felt  certain  was  not  to  take  place."  Her 
face  changed  quickly  from  merriment  to  gravity. 
"  I  could  not  have  stayed  in  the  fort  without  you," 
she  whispered.  "  Dear  lad,  I  am  afraid  to  death 


Wolf  Slayer   Comes  and  Goes     257 

whenever  you  are  out  of  my  sight.  I  do  believe 
this  love  has  made  a  coward  of  me !  " 

For  a  little  while  there  was  no  sound  aboard  the 
Pelican  save  the  tapping  of  the  reef-points  on  the 
swelling  breast  of  the  sail,  and  the  slow  creak  of 
the  tiller.  Ouenwa,  leaning  far  to  one  side,  gazed 
ahead,  while  the  warriors  crouched  on  the  thwarts. 
Then  the  man  stooped  his  head  close  to  the  girl's. 

"  But  on  this  trip,"  he  whispered,  "  you  must 
obey  me  —  for  both  our  sakes,  dearest.  It  would 
be  mutiny  else." 

"  I  shall  always  obey  you,"  she  replied  — "  al- 
ways, always  —  so  long  as  you  do  not  again  leave 
me  alone  in  Fort  Beatrix." 

"  William  Trigget  was  there,"  he  ventured. 
"And  Maggie  Stone." 

She  laughed  at  that.  "  Poor  Maggie ! "  she 
sighed.  "  Poor  Maggie !  She  will  rate  me  soundly 
for  my  boldness.  She  has  ever  a  thousand  dis- 
courses on  the  proprieties  ready  on  the  tip  of  her 
tongue." 

"  Ah,  the  proprieties,"  murmured  Bernard,  as  if 
caught  by  a  new  and  somewhat  disconcerting  idea. 
"  Rip  me,  but  I've  never  given  them  a  thought !  " 

Beatrix  laughed  delightedly.  "  You  must  not  let 
them  trouble  you  now,"  she  said.  "  When  we  get 
back  to  Bristol,  I  will  guard  myself  with  a  dozen 


258  Brothers   of  Peril 

staid  companions,  and  —  "  She  paused,  and  blushed 
crimson.  "  I  forget  that  I  am  penniless,"  she  added. 

Kingswell's  left  hand  closed  over  hers  where  it 
lay  in  her  lap.  "  How  long,  think  you,  shall  you 
stand  in  need  of  chaperons  in  Bristol?"  he  asked. 

The  three  boats  sought  shelter  in  a  tiny,  hidden 
bay,  and  Kingswell,  Mistress  Westleigh,  Ouenwa, 
and  Tom  Bent  made  an  overland  trip  to  a  wooded 
hill  overlooking  Wigwam  Harbour.  There  lay  the 
Heart  of  the  West,  close  in  at  her  old  anchorage 
after  the  day's  fishing.  Work  was  going  briskly 
forward  on  the  stages  at  the  edge  of  the  tide.  The 
other  vessels,  which  were  much  smaller  than  Trow- 
ley's  command,  lay  nearer  the  mouth  of  the  river 
harbour.  The  declining  sun  stained  spars  and 
furled  sails  to  a  rosy  tint  above  the  green  water. 

"  Hark ! "  whispered  Kingswell,  touching  the 
girl's  arm,  as  she  crouched  beside  him  in  the  fringe 
of  spruces. 

A  bellowing  voice,  loud  and  harsh  in  abuse, 
reached  their  ears. 

"  'Tis  Trowley,"  Jie  said,  and  chuckled.  "  How 
will  he  sound  to-night,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  You  will  not  be  rash,  Bernard,  —  for  my  sake," 
pleaded  the  girl. 

He  assured  her  that  he  would  be  discreet. 

It  was  dark  when  they  got  back  to  the  little  cove 


Wolf  Slayer   Comes  and   Goes     259 

in  which  the  boats  were  beached.  About  midnight, 
with  no  light  save  the  vague  illumination  of  the 
scattered  stars,  they  rowed  out  with  muffled  oars. 
They  moved  with  such  caution  that  it  took  them 
two  hours  to  reach  Wigwam  Harbour.  They 
passed  the  outer  ships  unchallenged.  Then  Beatrix 
was  transferred  from  the  Pelican  to  Black  Feather's 
boat,  and  Tom  Bent  joined  the  commander.  A  veil 
of  drifting  cloud  shut  out  even  such  feeble  light 
as  had  disclosed  the  course  to  the  voyagers.  Be- 
fore them  the  Heart  of  the  West  loomed  dark,  a 
thing  of  massed  shadows  and  a  few  yellow  lights. 
The  new-built  boats  lay  about  thirty  yards  aft 
and  seaward  of  the  ship.  The  Pelican  stole  in  under 
the  looming  stern,  with  no  more  noise  than  a  fish 
makes  when  he  breaches  in  shallow  water.  The 
crew  steadied  her  beside  the  groaning  rudder  with 
their  hands.  Kingswell  stood  on  a  thwart  and 
peered  in  at  the  cabin  window,  as  Ouenwa  had 
peered  on  a  night  of  the  preceding  season.  The 
low,  oak-ceiled  room  was  empty.  A  lantern  hung 
from  the  starboard  bulkhead,  and  two  candles,  in 
silver  sticks  that  bore  the  Kingswell  crest,  burned, 
with  bending  flames,  on  the  table.  On  the  locker 
under  the  lantern  lay  a  cutlass  in  its  sheath,  and  a 
boat-cloak  in  an  untidy  heap.  The  edge  of  the  table 
was  within  two  feet  of  the  square  stern-window. 


260  Brothers  of  Peril 

For  a  little  while  Kingswell  listened  with 
guarded  breath.  Then,  swiftly  and  lightly,  he 
pulled  himself  across  the  ledge  of  the  window, 
scrambled  through,  and  crouched  behind  the  table. 
Very  cautiously  he  drew  his  rapier  with  his  right 
hand  and  his  dagger  with  his  left.  For  a  minute 
or  two  he  squatted  in  the  narrow  quarters,  breath- 
ing regularly  and  deeply,  and  harkening  to  the  in- 
numerable creaking  voices  of  the  decks  and  bulk- 
heads, and  the  muffled  voices  and  laughter  from 
forward.  For  the  occasion  he  had  donned  the  hat, 
coat,  breeches,  and  boots  —  all  now  stained  and 
faded  —  in  which  Master  Trowley  had  last  seen 
him. 

Suddenly  a  heavy,  uncertain  step  sounded  on  the 
companion  ladder  just  forward  of  the  cabin  door. 
A  volley  of  stout  Devonshire  oaths  boomed  above 
the  lesser  sounds.  The  door  flew  open,  smote  the 
bulkhead  with  a  resounding  crack,  and  swung,  trem- 
bling. The  bulky  figure  of  Trowley  entered,  and 
the  heady  voice  of  the  old  sea-dog  cursed  the  door, 
and  big,  red  hands  slammed  it  shut  again.  Kings- 
well  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  composed  his  dancing 
nerves  and  galloping  blood  as  best  he  could.  His 
emotions  were  disconcertingly  mixed. 

The  masterful  old  pirate  (for  such  he  surely  was, 
deny  the  charge  if  you  like)  seemed  to  fill  the  cabin 


Wolf  Slayer   Comes  and  Goes     261 

to  overflowing  with  his  lurching,  great  body.  He 
tossed  boat-cloak  and  cutlass  on  the  deck,  and 
yanked  up  the  top  of  the  locker.  With  muttered 
revilings  at  the  excessive  cost  of  West  Indies  rum, 
he  produced  a  bottle  of  no  mean  capacity  from  its 
hiding-place,  and  a  fine  glass  sparkled  in  the  candle- 
light like  diamonds.  Kingswell  recognized  the  glass 
as  one  from  which  he  had  often  drunk  his  grog 
—  a  rare  piece  from  his  house  in  Bristol.  Those 
articles  the  mariner  placed  on  the  table,  scarcely 
a  foot  from  the  watcher's  head.  Next  he  loaded 
himself  a  china  pipe  with  black  tobacco,  and  lit  it 
at  one  of  the  candles.  In  doing  so,  Master  Bernard 
heard  the  puffings  and  gruntings  with  which  the 
deed  was  accomplished,  like  half  a  gale  in  his  ear. 
At  last  the  fellow  sat  down  with  a  thud,  squared  his 
elbows  on  the  table,  gazed  for  a  second  at  the 
square  window  that  opened  on  to  the  mysterious 
gloom  of  the  night,  and  tipped  the  bottle.  The 
liquor  gulped  and  gurgled  in  its  passage  to  the  glass. 
The  reek  o'f  it  permeated  the  air. 

"  Dang  it,"  grumbled  the  mariner,  "  d'ye  call 
this  rum!  Sink  me,  but  it  be  half  water! " 

However,  he  swallowed  the  dose  with  gusto,  and 
smacked  his  lips  at  the  end  of  it  as  he  never  would 
have  after  a  draught  of  water. 

Very    steadily    and    quietly    Bernard    Kingswell 


262  Brothers  of  Peril 

arose  to  his  feet  and  looked  down  at  Master  Trow- 
ley  with  inscrutable  eyes  shadowed  by  his  wide, 
stained  hat.  The  silence  that  followed  lasted  only 
a  few  seconds,  but  to  the  staring  mariner  it  seemed 
a  matter  of  hours.  He  sprawled  on  his  low  stool, 
open-mouthed,  red-eyed,  with  his  big  hands  nerve- 
less on  the  table,  and  the  lighted  pipe  unheeded  at 
his  feet. 

"Traitor!"  said  Kingswell,  coldly;  and  leaning 
across  the  table  he  tweaked  the  purple  tip  of  Trow- 
ley's  nose  between  thumb  and  finger.  To  do  so, 
he  laid  his  dagger  on  the  edge  of  the  mahogany 
for  a  second.  The  indignity  called  forth  no  more 
than  a  gurgle  of  terror  from  the  master  mariner. 
Kingswell  plucked  up  the  thin  blade  and  flashed  it 
within  an  inch  of  the  whiskered  face.  Still  the  fel- 
low sagged  on  his  stool,  unable  to  stir  a  muscle. 
Kingswell  whistled  three  low  notes.  Ouenwa 
crawled  through  the  port,  with  a  coil  of  light  rope 
in  his  hand.  Tom  Bent  followed.  Trowley  threw 
off  the  spell  of  the  supposed  ghostly  visitation  and 
got  to  his  feet  with  a  bellow  of  rage  and  fear.  In 
an  instant  he  was  flat  on  his  back,  with  a  gagging 
hand  across  his  mouth  and  another  at  his  throat. 
He  was  soon  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  securely 
gagged  with  a  strip  of  his  own  boat-cloak. 

Ouenwa  stuck  his  head  through  the  open  port, 


Wolf  Slayer   Comes  and  Goes     263 

and  whispered  a  word  or  two.  One  by  one,  four 
of  his  braves  entered,  with  their  knives  unsheathed. 
Kingswell  motioned  them  to  follow,  and  softly 
opened  the  cabin  door.  On  the  port  side  of  the 
alley-way,  beside  the  companion  ladder,  Trowley's 
mate  lay  asleep  in  his  bunk.  Kingswell  bent  over 
him  and  saw  that  he  was  a  stranger.  He  nodded 
significantly;  and  in  an  amazingly  short  time  the 
mate  of  the  Heart  of  the  West  was  as  neatly  trussed 
up  as  the  master. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  Tom  Bent  hung  over  the 
rail,  aft,  and  waved  a  lantern  in  three  half-circles. 
And  not  long  after  that,  Mistress  Westleigh,  Mas- 
ter Kingswell,  and  Ouenwa  filled  glasses  with 
Canary  wine,  in  the  cabin  of  the  Heart  of  the  West. 
In  the  waist  of  the  ship  the  stout  English  sailors 
and  the  skin-clad  Beothics  drained  their  pannikins, 
and  eyed  each  other  with  good-natured  curiosity. 
Old  Tom  Bent  was  toast-master;  and  also  he  told 
them  an  amazing  story. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

MAGGIE   STONE   TAKES    MUCH    UPON    HERSELF 

SHORTLY  before  midnight,  Tom  Bent  went 
quietly  about  the  task  of  waking  both  watches  and 
the  Beothics.  The  three  boats  from  Fort  Beatrix 
were  manned,  with  the  muffling  oars.  The  two  small 
anchors  by  which  the  Heart  of  the  West  swung 
in  the  tide  were  fished  into  two  of  the  boats  by 
hand.  It  was  a  tough  job;  but,  when  it  was  ac- 
complished, the  ship  was  free  without  so  much  as 
a  clank  of  cable  or  a  turn  of  the  noisy  capstan. 
Hawsers  were  passed  from  the  small  craft  over  the 
bows  of  the  ship,  and  at  a  signal  from  a  lantern  in 
Kingswell's  hand,  the  men  bent  their  backs  to  the 
oars.  Then  all  lights  aboard  the  Heart  of  the  West 
were  covered,  and  in  the  darkness,  beside  the  great 
tiller,  Kingswell  caught  his  inspiration  and  his  re- 
ward to  his  heart  again. 

The  girl  did  not  leave  the  commander's  side,  but 
kept  watch  on  the  high  poop-deck  throughout  the 

journey.    Until  dawn  the  rowers  held  to  their  toil, 

264 


Takes   Much   Upon   Herself      265 

and  after  them,  drawn  by  lines  that  were  some- 
times taut  and  sometimes  under  water,  but  always 
invisible  in  the  darkness,  the  ship  stole  like  a  shape 
of  cloud  and  dream.  It  was  hard  work,  and  slow. 
With  the  breaking  of  dawn,  the  leviathan  took  on 
signs  of  life.  By  that  time  she  was  hidden  from 
Wigwam  Harbour  by  more  than  one  bluff  headland. 
The  pulling  boats  drifted  to  her  bows,  the  capstan 
was  manned,  and  the  anchors  were  lifted  to  their 
places  on  the  forecast  rail.  Headsails  were  set, 
and  the  square  mizzen  was  run  up.  The  boats 
dropped  astern  and  were  made  fast,  and  the  weary 
men  climbed  aboard  the  ship. 

All  day  the  Heart  of  the  West  threaded  the  green 
waterways  of  the  great  Bay  of  Exploits.  A  light 
and  favourable  breeze  lent  itself  to  the  venture. 
After  the  midday  meal,  Beatrix,  wrapped  in  a  blan- 
ket, lay  down  by  the  mizzen  and  fell  asleep.  She 
was  tired.  The  easy  motion  of  the  ship,  and  the 
song  of  the  wind  in  ropes  and  canvas,  sank  her 
fathoms  deep  in  slumber,  with  the  magic  of  a  fairy 
lullaby.  Kingswell  rigged  a  piece  of  sail-cloth  from 
the  bulwarks  to  the  mast  to  shade  her  face  from 
the  sun. 

At  last  the  wide  estuary,  which  ends  in  Gray 
Goose  River,  was  reached.  By  sunset  the  mouth 
of  the  river  was  entered.  Just  then  the  wind  failed. 


266  Brothers  of  Peril 

The  boats  were  manned  again,  and  the  ship  taken 
in  tow. 

Still  Mistress  Westleigh  slumbered  peacefully, 
with  the  rough  blanket  about  her  dainty  body  and 
her  head  pillowed  on  Kingswell's  folded  coat. 
Kneeling  beside  her,  Kingswell  peered  under  the 
shelter  of  canvas,  and  saw  that  she  was  smiling 
in  her  dreams.  How  white  were  her  dropped  eye- 
lids, and  how  clear  and  rose-tinted  her  small  face. 
Her  lips  were  parted  a  little,  as  if  to  whisper  some 
sweet  secret.  A  strand  of  her  bright,  dark  hair  was 
across  her  forehead,  and  one  arm,  clear  of  the 
blanket  and  the  deerskin  on  which  she  lay,  rested 
on  the  deck.  The  rosy  palm  was  upturned.  Kings- 
well  stooped  lower  and  kissed  it  softly.  Standing 
up,  he  found  Tom  Bent  beside  him.  The  mahog- 
any-hued  mariner  grinned  sheepishly,  and  gave  a 
hitch  to  his  belt. 

"  Beggin'  the  lady's  pardon,"  he  whispered,  "  but, 
if  the  angels  in  heaven  be  half  so  sweet  to  look 
at  as  herself,  I'm  for  going  to  heaven,  in  spite  o' 
the  devil.  Sink  me,  but  I'd  play  one  o'  they  golden 
harps  with  a  light  heart  if  —  if  the  equals  of  her- 
self were  a-listenin'  on  the  quarter-deck." 

Kingswell  blushed  and  smiled.  "You,  too?" 
said  he.  "  You  are  in  love,  Tom  Bent." 

"  Ay,  sir,"  replied  the  boatswain,  "  for  it  can't 


Takes  Much   Upon   Herself      267 

be  helped.  I'm  in  love  and  awash,  and  danged  near 
to  sinkin'.  Might  as  well  expect  a  man  to  keep 
sober  in  the  '  Powdered  Admiral '  on  Bristol  dock 
as  within  ten  knots,  to  win' ward  or  lee'ard,  o'  your 
sweetheart,  sir." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  replied  the  gentleman,  bow- 
ing gravely. 

Tom  Bent  pulled  his  scant  forelock,  and  rolled 
away  about  his  duty.  He  was  mightily  pleased 
with  himself  at  having  expressed  his  admiration 
for  his  young  commander's  choice  in  such  felici- 
tous terms.  He  prided  himself  on  his  eye  for  fem- 
inine beauty,  no  matter  what  the  race  or  the  rank 
of  the  fair  one,  —  and  a  fairer  than  Mistress  West- 
leigh  he  swore  by  all  the  gods  of  the  Seven  Seas 
he  had  never  laid  eyes  on. 

The  long  spring  twilight  was  gathering  into  dusk 
when  the  toiling  boats  and  the  tall  ship  rounded  the 
point,  and  opened  the  fort  to  the  view  of  the  daring 
cruisers.  Directly  in  front  of  the  stockade  the 
anchors  plunged  into  the  brown  current.  The  rattle 
of  the  cables  through  the  hawse-holes  awoke  Bea- 
trix. She  had  been  dreaming  of  a  great  garden 
in  Somerset,  and  of  walking  along  box-hedged 
paths  with  her  father  on  one  side  and  her  lover 
on  the  other.  Opening  her  eyes  upon  the  canvas 
shelter  which  Kingswell  had  spread  above  her,  and 


268  Brothers  of  Peril 

with  the  clangour  of  the  running  cables  in  her  ears, 
for  a  second  she  did  not  know  where  she  was.  A 
vague  fear  oppressed  her  for  a  little.  Then  she 
recalled  the  incidents  of  the  last  two  days,  and  was 
about  to  crawl  from  her-  resting-place,  when  the 
edge  of  the  shelter  was  lifted,  and  Kingswell  looked 
down  at  her. 

"  Wake  up,"  he  said.  "  We  are  at  the  fort,  and 
Trigget  and  Maggie  Stone  are  coming  off  in  a 
canoe." 

"  Nay,  then  I'll  stay  here  until  you  explain  mat- 
ters," she  replied.  "  You  must  bear  the  brunt  of 
Maggie  Stone's  displeasure  for  my  sake."  She  sat 
up,  laughing  softly,  and  lifted  her  face  in  a  way 
that  only  a  dunce  could  fail  to  comprehend.  Under 
cover  of  the  strip  of  sail-cloth,  he  kissed  the  warm 
lips  and  the  bright  hair. 

"  Trust  me,"  he  laughed ;  and  at  that  moment 
Trigget  and  the  servant  climbed  to  the  poop  by 
way  of  the  ladder  from  the  ship's  waist.  He  ad- 
vanced to  meet  them.  He  saw  that  Trigget  held 
a  folded  paper  in  his  hand,  and  that  the  honest 
eyes  of  that  bold  mariner  were  red  and  moist. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired ;  for  he  had  entirely 
forgotten,  for  the  time  being,  the  manner  of  Mis- 
tress Westleigh's  joining  with  the  expedition. 

"  Here  be  your  will,  sir,"  said  Trigget,  handing 


Takes   Much  Upon   Herself      269 

him  the  paper.  "  It  —  it  —  well,  maybe  it'll  not 
be  o'  any  use  now." 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  Kingswell,  cheerfully, 
tearing  it  across. 

Maggie  Stone  burst  into  tears.  "Jus'  the  way 
Sir  Ralph  went,"  she  sobbed.  "  Oh,  my  beautiful 
little  lady  —  an'  her  fit  mate  for  any  nobleman  of 
London  town !  " 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean?"  cried  Kings- 
well.  Then  the  truth  dawned  in  his  preoccupied 
brain.  "  Dry  your  eyes,"  he  said.  "  She  is  safe 
and  sound." 

"  Thank  God  for  that,"  exclaimed  William  Trig- 
get,  devoutly. 

"  What  —  .the  mistress  be  safe,  d'ye  say  ?  "  cried 
Maggie  Stone,  with  a  sudden  change  of  face. 

Kingswell  nodded  curtly.  He  did  not  like  being 
bawled  at  on  the  poop  of  his  recaptured  ship,  even 
by  an  old  serving  maid.  "  Your  mistress  is  safe 
—  and  in  my  care,"  he  said. 

"  Indeed,  sir?  "  she  queried.  "  An'  may  I  make 
so  bold  as  to  ax  when  ye  married  Sir  Ralph  West- 
leigh's  daughter?" 

William  Trigget  murmured  something  to  the 
effect  that  his  presence  was  required  forward,  and 
took  his  departure.  Kingswell  bit  his  lip  and  stared 
haughtily  at  the  woman;  but  he  was  at  a  loss  for 


270  Brothers  of  Peril 

words  fully  expressive  of  his  feelings.  His  indig- 
nation brought  a  flush  to  his  cheeks  which  even  the 
dusk  of  evening  could  not  hide. 

"  Ye  may  well  redden,"  cried  Maggie  Stone. 
"  Ay,  ye  may  well  redden,  after  sailin'  away  with 
an  unprotected  lass,  an'  near  terrifyin'  her  old  nurse 
into  fits." 

The  gentleman  recovered  his  power  of  speech. 
"  My  good  girl,"  he  said  (and  she  was  a  full  twenty 
years  older  than  his  mother),  "your  joy  at  hear- 
ing of  your  mistress's  safety  takes  a  wondrous 
queer  and  unseemly  way  of  expressing  itself.  You 
seem  to  forget  that  you,  the  lady's  servant,  are 
addressing  the  lady's  betrothed  husband." 

The  old  maid  glared  and  drew  her  scanty  skirts 
about  her. 

"  Maybe  so,"  she  retorted.  "  'Twould  never 
have  happened  in  Somerset." 

At  that  moment  Mistress  Beatrix  appeared  sud- 
denly from  the  other  side  of  the  mizzen. 

"  How  dare  you!  "  she  cried.  "  How  dare  you 
speak  so  to  Master  Kings  well !  " 

Anger  —  quick,  scathing  anger  —  rang  in  her 
voice.  Standing  there  in  her  short  skirt,  high, 
beaded  moccasins,  and  blue  cloth  jacket,  she  looked 
like  an  indignant  boy,  save  for  her  coiled  hair  and 
bright  beauty. 


Takes   Much  Upon   Herself      271 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  she  added ;  and  then, 
turning  quickly,  she  flung  herself  into  Kingswell's 
ever  ready  embrace. 

Maggie  Stone  was  flustered  and  spmewhat  awed 
by  the  sudden  attack.  She  had  not  been  spoken 
to  so  for  years  and  years.  Would  she  resort  to 
tears  again,  or  would  she  answer  back?  She  was 
jealous  of  the  girl's  love  for  Kingswell  —  and  yet 
she  had  thanked  God  many  times  that  that  love  had 
been  won  by  the  young  Englishman  instead  of 
by  the  swarthy  D'Antons.  She  sniffed,  and  mopped 
her  eyes  with  the  back  of  her  hand.  Then  she 
changed  her  mind  and  bridled. 

"  What  would  the  countess,  your  aunt,  say  to 
such  behaviour?"  she  asked.  "Her  who  watched 
over  ye  like  a  guardian  angel  in  London  town." 

Beatrix  turned,  and,  still  holding  her  lover's 
hands,  faced  the  carping  critic. 

"  And  who  turned  me  out  of  her  house  at  the 
last  of  it,"  she  cried,  scornfully.  "  Who  is  she, 
or  who  was  she  ever,  to  question  my  behaviour? 
And  who  are  you,  woman,  to  insult  your  mistress 
and  the  gentleman  who  saved  you  from  the  knives 
of  the  savages?  Go  back  to  the  fort." 

Maggie  Stone  saw  that  she  had  made  a  serious 
mistake,  —  a  mistake  which,  perhaps,  would  alien- 
ate the  lady's  affection  for  ever.  She  turned,  a 


272  Brothers  of  Peril 

pitiable  figure,  and  made  to  descend  the  steep  lad- 
der which  stood  close  to  the  starboard  side  of  the 
ship,  and  led  to  the  waist.  Her  foot  caught  in  a 
loop  of  rope  that  had  not  been  properly  stopped 
up  to  its  belay  ing-pin.  She  lurched  against  the 
line  that  ran  from  the  break  of  the  poop  to  the 
bulwarks  below,  made  a  blind  effort  to  right  her- 
self, and  pitched  over  into  the  shadowed  water 
below.  She  did  not  even  scream. 

Kingswell  dropped  his  sweetheart's  hands,  ran  to 
the  side  and  jumped  after  the  foolish  old  woman. 
By  that  time  the  twilight  had  left  the  river.  The 
current  carried  him  swiftly  down-stream,  close 
under  the  side  of  the  ship.  The  water  was  uncom- 
fortably cold,  and  his  thick  clothes  dragged  at  his 
limbs.  He  cleared  his  hair  from  his  eyes.  A  dis- 
turbance appeared  on  the  surface  of  the  stream  a 
few  yards  ahead.  With  a  quick  stroke  or  two, 
he  reached  it,  and  caught  Maggie  Stone  by  a  thin 
shoulder.  She  struggled  desperately,  mad  with 
fright.  Both  were  pulled  over  the  gunwale  of  the 
Pelican  not  a  moment  too  soon. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

WHILE  THE   SPARS   ARE   SCRAPED 

IT  is  difficult  to  imagine  the  feelings  of  the  skip- 
pers and  crews  of  the  good  ship  Plover  and  Mary 
and  Joyce,  when  the  gray  light  of  dawn  disclosed 
the  fact  that  the  Heart  of  the  West  had  vanished 
completely.  What  a  rubbing  of  eyes  must  have 
taken  place!  What  a  dropping  of  whiskered  jaws 
and  ripping  of  sea  oaths! 

"  Sunk,"  said  one  heavy-shouldered  mariner. 

"  Then  where  be  her  spars  ?  "  inquired  a  mess- 
mate. 

"  Cut  an'  run,"  suggested  another. 

"  Then  the  devil  must  have  been  after  her !  Ol' 
Trowley'd  run  from  nothin'  else,"  replied  the  cook 
of  the  Plover. 

The  captain  of  the  Mary  and  Joyce  scanned  the 
inner  harbour  and  what  he  could  see  of  the  outer 
bay.  Then  he  turned  his  brass  telescope  upon  the 
cliffs  and  hills  and  inland  woods. 

273 


274  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  Maybe  the  French  has  towed  mun  out,"  he  said 
at  last 

No  fishing  was  done  that  day.  The  neighbour- 
ing bays  and  coves  were  searched,  and  even  the 
"  River  of  Three  Fires "  was  investigated,  with 
a  deal  of  trouble,  for  several  miles  up  its  swift 
current.  That  night  the  skippers  of  the  two  vessels 
decided,  over  several  hot  glasses,  that  Wigwam 
Harbour  was  no  safe  place  for  honest  English 
sailor  men.  Next  morning  found  them  sailing 
northward  in  search  of  another  haven  from  which 
to  reap  the  harvest  of  the  great  bay. 

To  Fort  Beatrix  journeyed  all  the  Beothics  from 
many  miles  around,  for  a  great  trade  was  going 
on.  Influenced  by  Maggie  Stone's  foolish  outbreak, 
Beatrix  and  Bernard  had  decided  to  seek  a  priest 
in  the  port  of  St.  John's  on  their  way  to  England, 
and  so  cross  the  ocean  as  man  and  wife,  to  the 
bitter  chagrin  of  Bristol  scandal-mongers.  Though 
the  idea  had  not  occurred  to  either  of  the  lovers 
before  the  old  woman's  outcry  in  the  name  of  suf- 
fering propriety,  it  was  none  the  less  to  their  liking 
now  that  they  had  accepted  it. 

"  And  it  will  please  poor  Maggie  Stone,"  said  the 
girl. 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  her,"  replied  Kingswell, 


While  the  Spars  Are  Scraped     275 

lifting  the  glowing  face  to  his  by  a  hand  beneath 
the  rounded  chin. 

"  Nor  I,  dear  heart,"  she  replied. 

To  the  others  of  that  wilderness  the  trading 
seemed  a  greater  matter  than  that  romantic  at- 
tachment of  a  man  and  a  maid.  Blankets,  trinkets, 
inferior  weapons,  and  even  the  spare  clothing  of 
the  settlers  were  bartered  for  pelts  of  beaver,  mink, 
marten,  otter,  musquash,  and  red,  patched,  and 
black  fox,  to  make  up  a  cargo  for  the  Heart  of 
the  West.  The  price  of  an  axe-head  was  twice  its 
weight  in  beaver  skins.  Even  Maggie  Stone,  with 
an  eye  to  adding  to  her  nest-egg,  traded  a  skillet 
(the  identical  implement  with  which  she  had  floored 
D'Antons)  for  a  beautiful  foxskin.  Only  Trowley 
had  no  finger  in  the  trading.  Sullen  and  silent, 
he  wandered  about  the  fort,  and  a  few  paces  behind 
him  a  brawny  Beothic  always  stalked. 

The  storehouse  of  the  fort  was  replenished  from 
the  well-stocked  pantries  and  lazaret  of  the  ship. 
Kingswell  smiled  grimly  when,  during  the  over- 
hauling of  the  cabin  lockers,  he  discovered  choice 
wines,  cheeses,  and  pots  of  jam  which  his  lady 
mother  had  given  to  Master  Trowley  as  a  slight 
mark  of  her  gratitude  for  his  services  to  her  son. 
He  forced  an  admittance  of  these  things  from  the 
old  rascal  himself.  It  had  been  as  he  had  hinted 


276  Brothers  of  Peril 

to  Beatrix.  The  fellow  had  told  the  tearful  and 
credulous  lady  that  he  had  risked  his  life  in  her 
son's  defence,  during  an  engagement  with  the  sav- 
ages; and  she,  grateful  heart,  had  made  such  an 
unbusiness-like  agreement  with  him  for  the  sailing 
of  the  ship  that,  had  the  voyage  run  its  anticipated 
course,  even  a  full  load  of  fish  would  not  have  saved 
her  from  a  shrewd  loss.  Happily  for  Trowley, 
Master  Kingswell  was  far  too  happy  for  such 
trivial  matters  to  really  anger  him. 

"  The  old  rogue  staked  his  soul  and  lost  on  the 
last  throw,"  he  said  to  Beatrix,  "  and  I  staked  my 
heart,  and  won  all  that  the  world  holds  of  joy. 
Surely  I  should  be  a  low  fellow  to  add  to  his  mis- 
fortunes, poor  devil.  I  can  afford  to  be  charitable 
now." 

They  were  seated  on  the  grassy  edge  of  the  river 
meadow,  looking  out  at  the  anchored  ship,  where 
sailors  were  repairing  the  rigging  and  scraping 
the  spars.  The  girl  did  not  seem  keenly  interested 
in  Trowley's  underhand  behaviour  to  Dame  Kings- 
well.  As  to  his  treachery  toward  Kingswell,  to  tell 
the  truth,  she  was  very  grateful  to  the  old  thief 
for  having  sailed  away  and  left  her  lover  in  the 
wilderness.  Such  thoughts  flitted  pleasantly 
through  her  mind. 


While  the  Spars  Are   Scraped      277 

"When  did  you  stake  your  heart?"  she  asked, 
as  if  that  were  the  core  of  the  whole  thing. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  the  date  exactly,"  replied 
Kings  well,  "  but  I  was  in  Pierre  d'Antons'  com- 
pany at  the  time,  and  —  and  I  was  mightily  sur- 
prised to  find  Somersetshire  people  in  this  country. 
Lord,  but  your  eyes  were  bright." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  —  do  you  mean  that 
it  happened  on  the  first  day  of  your  arrival  at  the 
fort?"  she  queried. 

"  Surely,"  said  he. 
.  "  And  you  loved  me  then  ?  " 

He  nodded,  smiling  across  toward  the  busy  mari- 
ners in  the  rigging  of  his  ship.  His  memories 
of  those  perilous  days  were  fragrant  as  an  English 
rose-garden. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  whispered,  "  that,  though 
I  felt  sure  I  had  made  an  impression  on  you  then, 
I  began  to  doubt  it  later.  You  were  so  self-satisfied 
that  you  shook  my  faith  in  my  own  powers  to 
charm." 

He  laughed  softly,  and  with  a  note  of  wonder. 
Then,  for  a  little  while,  they  were  silent. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  suddenly.  "  Did  you  really 
love  me  that  first  day  you  came  to  the  fort,  or  was 
it  just  —  just  surprise  at  seeing  a  —  a  civilized  girl 
in  so  forsaken  a  place  ?  " 


278  Brothers   of  Peril 

He  considered  the  question  gravely  and  at  some 
length.  "  I  wanted  to  kill  D'Antons,"  he  answered, 
presently,  "  and  I  would  gladly  have  given  ten 
years  of  my  life  for  a  kiss  from  your  lips,  a  caress 
from  your  hands.  Was  that  love,  think  you?" 

"  I  should  call  it  a  right  hopeful  beginning,"  she 
replied,  brightly;  but  tears  which  she  could  not 
explain  shone  in  her  eyes.  Across  the  hurrying 
water  drifted  the  song  of  the  men  at  work  upon 
the  tall  masts  of  the  Heart  of  the  West. 

"  In  a  week's  time,"  said  Kingswell,  "  she  will 
fill  her  sails  for  St.  John's  —  and  then  for  home." 

The  girl  nestled  closer  to  his  side.  Looking 
down,  he  saw  that  she  was  weeping. 

"  God  grant  that  we  find  a  parson  in  that  har- 
bour," he  added.  She  nodded,  and  choked  with  a 
sob  she  could  not  stifle. 

"Why  do  you  weep,  dearest?"  he  asked. 

"  For  those  whom  we  must  leave  behind,"  she 
whispered. 

He  had  no  answer  to  make  to  that.  Together 
they  looked  beyond  the  anchored  ship  and  the 
bright  river  to  the  inscrutable  wilderness  that  held 
the  fate  of  the  mad  baronet  so  securely. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE    FIRST    STAGE    OF    THE    HOMEWARD   VOYAGE    IS 
BRAVELY   ACCOMPLISHED 

AT  nine  o'clock  of  the  morning  of  the  twenty- 
second  day  of  June,  the  bow  of  the  Heart  of  the 
West  was  towed  around  and  pointed  down-stream 
by  willing  boats  and  canoes ;  a  light  wind  filled  such 
sails  as  were  set,  and  the  voyage  was  begun.  Trig- 
get  fired  a  salute  from  a  new  gun  which  Kingswell 
had  given  him  from  the  armament  of  the  ship.  It 
was  answered  by  the  barking  of  cannon  and  the 
fluttering  of  sails. 

Ouenwa  stood  with  Mistress  Westleigh,  Kings- 
well,  and  Maggie  Stone,  aft  by  the  tiller,  which 
was  in  the  hands  of  Tom  Bent.  The  lad  was  fairly 
wild  with  excitement.  Now,  it  seemed  to  him, 
his  great  dreams  were  assured;  and  yet  a  pang 
of  homesickness  went  through  the  joy  like  the  blade 
of  a  knife,  as  he  watched  the  faces  of  the  clus- 
tered people  along  the  meadow  and  in  the  boats 

grow   dim,  —  the   faces   of   William   Trigget   and 

279 


280  Brothers  of  Peril 

Black  Feather,  and  of  a  dozen  more  who  were  dear 
to  him.  He  shouted  back  to  them  in  English  and 
in  his  native  tongue,  and  waved  his  cap  frantically. 
The  faces  blurred  and  wavered.  The  ship  swam 
around  the  wooded  point,  and  meadow  and  stockade 
and  camp  of  wigwams  vanished  like  a  picture  with- 
drawn. The  lad  turned  and  glanced  at  Mistress 
Westleigh.  Then  he  walked  forward  to  the  break 
of  the  poop,  and  blinked  very  hard  at  nothing  in 
particular  in  the  belly  of  the  maintopsail. 

Soon  the  wooded  banks  fell  away  on  either  side, 
and  the  water  changed  its  tint  of  amber  for  wind- 
roughened  green.  The  gray,  purple,  and  brown 
shores  of  the  roadstead  widened  and  dropped  lower, 
and  azure  uplands  shone  beyond  their  frowning 
brows.  The  wind  freshened,  and  white  flakes  of 
foam  whipped  from  crest  to  crest  across  the  ever- 
shifting,  ever-vanishing  valleys  of  green.  Along 
the  fading  cliffs  white  sea-birds  circled  and  settled 
like  flakes  of  snow.  A  few  great  gulls  winged 
around  the  ship,  fleeing  to  leeward  like  bolts  of 
mist,  and  beating  up  again  with  quivering  pinions. 

Kingswell  had  taken  the  duties  of  sailing-master 
upon  himself.  He  was  as  good  a  deep-sea  navi- 
gator as  any  man  on  the  whole  width  of  the  North 
Atlantic.  When  the  outer  bay  was  reached,  yards 
were  swung  around,  and  the  stout  bark  headed  due 


The  Homeward  Voyage          281 

east  at  his  orders.  To  see  old  Tom  Bent  push  the 
tiller  over,  and  other  seasoned  mariners  man  brace 
and  sheet,  at  the  command  of  that  gold-haired 
youth,  made  the  heart  of  Beatrix  Westleigh  flut- 
ter with  pride.  Her  dark  eyes,  already  bright  and 
lovely  beyond  power  of  description,  shone  yet  more 
brightly;  and  her  cheeks,  already  flushed  to  clear 
flame  by  the  wind,  deepened  their  glow.  As  the 
ship  answered  to  his  will,  so  would  he  answer  to 
her  whim.  It  was  a  pleasant  reflection  to  the  lady; 
and  to  realize  it  she  called  softly.  Without  a  glance 
at  the  straining  sails,  he  turned  and  hastened  to 
her  side. 

The  voyage  from  Fort  Beatrix  to  the  wonderful 
harbour  and  brave  little  town  of  St.  John's  was 
made  without  accident,  though  not  without  incident. 
In  Bonavista  Bay,  at  a  gray  hour  of  the  morning, 
the  stump  of  a  great  iceberg  was  narrowly  avoided. 
A  day  later,  a  large  vessel  that  was  evidently  em- 
ployed at  fishing  evinced  an  undesirable  interest 
in  the  business  of  the  Heart  of  the  West.  She  was 
not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant  when  first  sighted, 
for  a  light  fog  was  on  the  water.  She  flew  no 
flag,  and  changed  her  course  and  altered  her  speed 
with  sinister  promptness.  Kings  well,  and  every 
man  of  the  ship's  company,  knew  that  pirates  of 
many  nationalities  infested  those  waters  during 


282  Brothers  of  Peril 

summer.  The  worst  of  the  thieves  were  Turks; 
and  the  fishing-ship  or  store-ship  that  was  over- 
hauled by  those  gentry  usually  lost  more  than  its 
cargo.  Frenchmen,  Englishmen,  and  Spaniards 
also  had  a  weakness  for  playing  the  part  of  the 
bald  eagle,  with  their  heavy  metalled  and  wide- 
sailed  craft,  to  the  role  of  the  fishhawk  so  unwill- 
ingly played  by  the  merchantmen.  Happily  for 
Kingswell's  command,  the  stranger  was  inshore 
and  to  leeward.  Both  watches  were  piped  up  by 
Tom  Bent.  The  gunners  went  to  their  quarters. 
Sail  after  sail  unfurled  about  the  already  straining 
masts  and  yards.  The  brave  little  ship  answered 
willingly  to  the  pressure,  and  her  cutwater  broke 
the  flanks  of  the  waves  into  sibilant  foam. 

A  rumour  of  the  chase  reached  Mistress  Beatrix 
and  her  old  maid,  in  the  seclusion  of  that  snug 
cabin  in  which  Master  Trowley  was,  at  one  time, 
wont  to  revel.  Maggie  Stone  drew  the  curtains 
across  the  thick  glass  of  the  after-port  (as  if  fear- 
ing that  the  eagle  glance  of  one  of  the  pirates 
might  pierce  the  privacy  of  her  retreat),  and  then 
devoted  herself  to  tearful  prayer.  Beatrix  com- 
pleted her  toilet,  threw  a  cloak  over  her  shoulders, 
and  climbed  the  companion.  She  joined  Kings  well 
by  the  tiller,  and,  after  saluting  him  tenderly  and 


The   Homeward  Voyage          283 

with  a  composure  that  took  no  heed  of  the  sailor 
at  the  helm,  watched  the  chase  with  interest. 

"  They  outsail  us,"  she  said,  presently. 

Kingswell  nodded.  "  But  she'll  never  get  near 
us  on  that  course,"  he  replied.  "  She  is  for  heading 
us  off,  and  getting  to  windward.  If  she  gets  to 
windward  of  us  —  Lord,  but  I  scarce  think  she 
will." 

He  said  a  word  of  preparation  to  the  man  at 
the  tiller,  and  then  gave  a  few  quick  orders  from 
the  break  of  the  poop.  In  half  a  minute  the  Heart 
of  the  West  headed  out  on  an  easy  tack.  When 
every  sail  was  drawing  to  his  liking,  he  returned 
to  the  girl. 

"  How  glorious !  "  she  cried.  "  A  good  horse, 
a  singing  pack,  and  an  old  fox  make  but  slow  sport 
compared  to  this." 

"  We  are  the  fox  on  this  hunting  morning," 
smiled  Kingswell. 

"  With  teeth,"  she  hinted. 

He  noticed  that  the  unwelcome  stranger  was 
shouldering  the  wind  on  the  new  course.  He 
looked  at  the  girl. 

"  Ay,  we  have  teeth,  sweeting,"  he  said,  "  and 
soon  we'll  be  gnashing  them." 

Though  the  Heart  of  the  West  sailed  well,  to 
windward,  the  big  craft  astern  sailed  even  better. 


284  Brothers  of  Peril 

The  ships,  crowded  with  canvas,  the  dancing  blue 
water  and  cloudless  sky,  and  the  brown  and  azure 
coast  to  leeward,  made  a  fine  picture  under  the 
white  sun.  As  the  stranger  drew  near  and  nearer, 
excitement  increased  aboard  the  merchantman.  Old 
Trowley  bawled  to  be  set  free,  that  he  might  not 
die  in  the  sail-locker  like  a  rat  in  a  hole.  Torn 
Bent  spat  on  his  hard  hands,  and  pulled  his  belt 
an  inch  shorter.  Ouenwa  lugged  up  shot  and  pow- 
der, and  was  for  opening  fire  at  an  impossible  range. 
Beatrix  roused  Maggie  Stone  from  her  devotions, 
and  took  her  forward  to  a  place  of  greater  safety 
in  the  men's  quarters. 

Along  either  side  of  the  after-cabin  of  the  Heart 
of  the  West  ran  a  narrow  passage.  Each  passage 
ended  in  a  blind  port,  and  behind  each  port  crouched 
a  gun  of  unusual  size  for  so  peaceful  an  appearing 
ship.  Now  Kingswell  blessed  the  day  that  a  youth- 
ful love  of  warlike  gear  and  a  heart  for  adventure 
had  led  him  to  add  these  pieces  to  the  armament  of 
his  ship.  He  remembered,  with  a  contented  smile, 
how  Master  Trowley  had  growled  at  the  delay 
caused  by  getting  the  great  guns  aboard  and  par- 
titioning off  the  passage.  Even  his  mother  had 
urged  him  to  put  more  faith  in  the  great  ship  which 
the  king  was  so  gracious  as  to  send  to  Newfounde 
Land  each  spring,  as  a  convoy  to  the  fishing  fleet. 


The   Homeward  Voyage          285 

But  Master  Bernard,  spoiled  child,  had  had  his 
way;  and  now  he  thanked  the  gods  of  war  for  it. 

Both  ships  sailed  as  close  to  the  wind  as  their 
models  and  rigging  and  the  laws  of  nature  would 
allow.  They  went  about  often  on  ever  shortening 
tacks.  The  hunter  outsailed  the  hunted,  though  it 
is  safe  to  say  that  her  seamanship  was  no  better. 
Suddenly  she  luffed  until  her  sails  quivered,  and 
from  her  bows  broke  two  puffs  of  smoke  with 
inner  cores  of  flame.  Both  shots  flew  high,  and 
fell  ahead  of  the  quarry  in  brief  spouts  of  torn 
water.  At  that,  the  blind  ports  in  the  stern  of 
the  merchantman  opened  up,  and  the  sinister  muz- 
zles of  the  guns  were  run  out  with  a  gust  of  Eng- 
lish cheering.  Then  their  sudden  voices  boomed 
defiance,  and  the  smoke  rolled  along  the  water  and 
clung  to  the  leaping  waves. 

Kings  well  felt  the  deck  jump  under  his  feet. 
His  pulses  leaped  with  the  good  planks.  "  Hit !  " 
he  cried  —  and  sure  enough,  one  of  the  enemy's 
upper  spars,  with  its  burden  of  flapping  canvas,  tot- 
tered desperately,  and  then  swooped  down  on  the 
clustered  buccaneers  beneath.  Half  an  hour  later 
the  Heart  of  the  West  was  spinning  along  on  her 
old  course,  and  far  astern  the  stranger  lay  to  and 
nursed  her  wound. 

Three  days  later,   at  high  noon,  the  Narrows 


286  Brothers  of  Peril 

opened  in  the  sheer  brown  face  of  the  cliffs,  and 
the  people  of  the  Heart  of  the  West  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  harbour  and  the  shipping  beyond. 
Then  the  rocky  portals  seemed  to  close,  and  the 
spray  flew  like  smoke  along  the  unbroken  ramparts. 
The  ship  was  put  about,  and  again  the  magic  en- 
trance opened  and  shut. 

"  I  knows  the  channel,  sir,"  said  Tom  Bent. 
"  Ye  needn't  wait  for  no  duff-headed  pilot." 

So  the  stout  ship  went  'round  again,  writh  a 
brisk  shouting  of  men  at  the  braces  and  a  booming 
of  canvas  aloft.  Her  colours  flew  bravely  in  the 
sunlight,  answering  the  colours  of  the  fort  and 
the  battery  on  Signal  Hill.  She  raced  at  the  tow- 
ering cliff  as  if  she  would  try  to  overthrow  it  with 
her  cocked-up  bowsprit.  Even  Kingswell  caught 
his  breath.  Beatrix  looked  away,  so  fearful  was 
the  sight  of  the  unbroken  rock  that  seemed  to  swim 
toward  them  with  a  voice  of  thunder  and  the  smok- 
ing surf  along  its  foot.  Ouenwa  wondered  if  Tom 
Bent  were  mad.  But  the  boatswain  gripped  the 
big  tiller,  and  squinted  under  the  yards,  and  cocked 
an  eye  aloft  at  the  flags  and  men  on  the  cliff.  Then, 
of  a  sudden,  the  narrow  passage  of  green  water, 
spray-fringed,  opened  under  their  bows,  and  the 
walls  of  rock  slid  aside  and  let  them  in. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

IN    THE   MERRY   CITY 

THE  Heart  of  the  West  was  boarded  by  a  lieu- 
tenant of  infantry,  inside  the  Narrows,  and  was 
quickly  piloted  to  a  berth  on  the  north  side  of  the 
great  harbour,  where  her  anchors  were  merrily  let 
go.  The  lieutenant  welcomed  Master  Kingswell 
in  the  governor's  name,  and  vowed  to  Mistress 
Westleigh  that  the  old  shellback  (with  so  little 
respect  will  a  subaltern  sometimes  speak  of  his 
superior  into  safe  ears)  would  never  have  allowed 
his  gout  to  keep  him  ashore  had  he  guessed  that 
the  new  arrival  carried  such  a  passenger. 

"  But  his  Excellency  is  a  sailor,"  he  added,  "  so, 
after  all,  he'd  blink  his  old  eyes  at  you  unmoved. 
These  sajlors,  ecod,  are  not  the  worshippers  of 
beauty  that  the  poets  would  have  us  believe." 

He  bowed  again,  very  fine  in  his  new  uniform 
and  powdered  hair.  Beatrix  shot  a  glance  at  Kings- 
well,  who  seemed  in  no  wise  conscious  of  the  dim- 
ness of  his  own  attire  and  the  rents  in  the  silk 

287 


288  Brothers  of  Peril 

facings  of  his  coat.  Then  she  smiled  upon  the 
soldier. 

"  Both  the  army  and  navy  have  my  esteem,"  she 
said,  "  but  my  particular  fancy  is  for  the  Church." 

The  lieutenant  seemed  overwhelmed.  "  Say  you 
so?"  he  cried.  "And  to  think,  mistress,  that  I 
refused  to  take  Holy  Orders,  despite  the  combined 
persuasion  of  both  my  parents  and  my  uncle,  the 
Bishop  of  Bath.  Stab  me,  but  why  did  not  my 
heart  give  me  a  hint  of  your  preference?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  have  a  parson  ashore,"  suggested 
Kingswell. 

"  Ay,  we  have  a  parson  —  a  ranting  old  mis- 
sionary," replied  the  lieutenant. 

"  He'll  serve  my  turn,"  said  Beatrix,  "  so  long 
as  he  can  read  the  marriage  service." 

"  Ay,  he'll  serve  our  turn,"  said  Kingswell. 

The  soldier  sighed,  and  smiled  whimsically  from 
the  one  to  the  other.  He  was  not  much  older  than 
Bernard  Kingswell,  and  of  a  pleasant,  boyish  coun- 
tenance. 

"  You  have  a  story,"  he  said,  "  with  which  I 
hope  you  will  honour  us  in  the  governor's  house. 
A  brave  tale,  too,  I'll  stake  my  sword."  He  smiled 
good-naturedly  at  Master  Kingswell.  "  But  d'ye 
know,"  he  added,  gazing  at  Mistress  Westleigh, 


In   the   Merry   City  289 

"  I  had  quite  set  my  heart  on  it  that  you  two  were 
brother  and  sister." 

The  governor  received  them  in  his  best  coat, 
with  one  foot  in  a  boot,  and  the  other  swathed 
to  the  bulk  of  a  soldier's  knapsack.  His  face  was 
of  the  tint  of  russet  leather,  and,  roughened  by  many 
inclement  winds  and  darkened  by  high  living.  His 
voice  was  of  a  rancorous  quality,  as  if  he  had  frayed 
it  by  too  much  shouting  through  fogs  and  against 
gales.  His  hands  were  big,  knotted,  and  tremulous, 
and  his  eyes  not  unlike  those  of  a  new- jigged  cod- 
fish. Altogether  he  was  a  figure  of  a  man  for  his 
place  as  king's  representative.  He  led  Mistress 
Beatrix  to  a  chair  with  such  grace  as  he  could 
command,  and  presented  a  ponderous  snuff-box  to 
Master  Kingswell.  Then  he  called  for  refresh- 
ments. The  lieutenant  made  himself  at  home  be- 
side the  lady,  and  waited  upon  her  with  wine  and 
cakes.  When  the  servants  were  gone  and  the  door 
closed,  Kingswell  stated  his  name  and  degree. 

"  Let  me  shake  your  hand  again,  young  sir," 
cried  his  Excellency,  extending  an  unsteady  hand. 
'  Your  honoured  father  dined  and  wined  me  more 
than  once  in  his  great  house  in  Bristol,  —  ay, 
and  treated  the  poor  sailor  like  a  peer  of  the 
realm." 

Kingswell  leaned  sideways  in  his  chair  and  gave 


290  Brothers  of  Peril 

a  brief  account  of  Sir  Ralph  Westleigh's  and  Mis- 
tress Westleigh's  sojourn  in  the  wilderness,  and 
of  the  baronet's  death.  He  did  not  mention  the 
fact  that  the  fort  was  still  inhabited,  nor  did  he 
give  a  very  definite  idea  of  its  whereabouts.  It 
was  well  to  be  cautious  in  regard  to  unchartered 
plantations  in  those  days  of  greedy  fishermen.  He 
mentioned  the  brief  engagement  with  the  buccaneer. 
He  told  of  his  betrothal  to  Mistress  Westleigh, 
and  of  their  anxiety  to  be  married  immediately. 
The  governor  was  deeply  affected  by  the  story  of 
Sir  Ralph  Westleigh's  last  days.  He  murmured 
an  oath.  "  And  the  day  was,"  he  said,  "  that  not 
a  duke  in  England  was  more  looked  up  to  than  that 
same  baronet  of  Somerset.  Well  do  I  recall  the 
pride  that  inflated  me  when  Lady  Westleigh  —  ay, 
the  young  lady's  mother  —  bowed  to  me  in  Hyde 
Park.  Only  once  had  she  met  me,  and  that  in  a 
crush  to  which  I'd  been  invited  through  my  com- 
mander. And  she  was  as  beautiful  as  she  was  gra- 
cious, sir.  'Twas  after  her  death  that  Sir  Ralph 
threw  over  his  ballast,  poor  devil." 

Kingswell  nodded,  and  remembered  the  winter 
of  alarms  and  loneliness. 

"  They  were  bitter  years  for  the  daughter,"  he 
said,  softly.  "  Motherless,  and  with  a  father  whom 
she  loved  letting  slip  his  old  pride  and  honour  day 


In   the   Merry  City  291 

by  day,  she  shared  his  downfall  and  his  exile  with 
fortitude,  sir,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  Ay,  as  became  her  brave  beauty,"  replied  the 
governor,  with  a  gleam  in  his  staring  eyes. 

Now  fate  would  have  it  at  that  time  the  only 
divine  in  the  great  island,  the  Reverend  Thomas 
Aldrich,  M.  A.,  was  away  from  the  little  town  of 
St.  John's,  on  a  preaching  tour  among  the  English 
fishermen  in  Conception  Bay.  He  might  be  back 
in  a  day's  time;  he  was  more  likely  not  to  return 
within  the  week. 

"  In  the  meantime,"  said  the  honest  governor, 
"  my  house  is  at  Mistress  Westleigh's  service.  Let 
her  send  for  her  maid  and  her  boxes.  My  good 
housekeeper  will  tidy  up  the  best  chamber.  Gad, 
Master  Kingswell,  but  we'll  cheer  this  God-for- 
saken, French-pestered  hole  in  the  rock  with  a  touch 
of  gaiety." 

His  Excellency's  hospitality  was  accepted,  and 
for  eight  days  the  little  settlement  gave  itself  over 
to  merrymaking.  There  were  dances  in  the  gov- 
ernor's house  every  night,  at  which  Beatrix  was  the 
only  lady.  There  were  great  dinners,  during  which 
Beatrix  sat  on  his  Excellency's  right  and  Kingswell 
on  his  left.  There  were  inspections  of  the  fort, 
boating  parties  on  the  harbour,  and  outings  among 


292  Brothers  of  Peril 

the  woods  and  natural  gardens  that  graced  the  val- 
ley at  the  head  of  the  beautiful  basin. 

The  beauty  and  graciousness  of  Mistress  West- 
leigh,  and  the  knowledge  of  her  loyalty  to  her 
father,  and  her  bravery  won  the  heart  of  that  rude 
village.  From  the  governor  to  the  youngest  sailor 
lad,  every  man  in  the  harbour  was  her  humble  and 
devoted  servant. 

Before  the  kindly  soldiers  and  merchants  and 
adventurers,  she  was  always  merry.  The  main 
street  along  the  water-front  took  on  a  light  of 
distant  England  did  she  but  appear  in  it  for  a  min- 
ute. The  three  officers  of  the  garrison  swore  that 
they  preferred  it  to  the  most  fashionable  promenade 
on  London.  But,  alone,  or  with  her  lover,  she 
eased,  with  tears,  the  grief  for  her  father's  fate, 
which  all  the  junketing  and  gaiety  but  seemed  to 
uncover. 

On  the  eighth  day  after  the  arrival  of  the  Heart 
of  the  West  in  the  harbour  of  St.  John's,  the  parson 
returned  from  his  preaching  among  the  boisterous 
fishing-ships  in  Conception  Bay.  He  shook  his  head 
at  the  state  in  which  he  found  his  home  flock;  for 
he  was  of  that  gloomy  persuasion  known  as  low 
church,  and  held  little  with  frivolity.  But,  after 
meeting  Beatrix,  he  thawed,  and  even  went  so  far 
as  to  attempt  a  pun  on  his  willingness  to  marry 


In   the    Merry   City  293 

her.  The  sally  of  wit  was  received  by  the  lady 
with  so  lovely  a  smile  that  the  divine  forgot  his 
austerity  so  far  as  to  poke  Kingswell  in  the  ribs, 
and  call  him  a  sly  dog. 

The  ceremony  took  place  in  the  little  church 
behind  the  governor's  house ;  and,  after  it  was  over, 
his  Excellency,  the  parson,  the  officers  of  the  garri- 
son, the  merchants,  the  cap'tains  of  the  ships,  and 
many  more,  accompanied  the  happy  couple  aboard 
the  Heart  of  the  West,  where  sound  wines  were 
drunk  by  the  quality,  and  rum  and  beer  by  the 
commonalty.  All  the  shipping,  the  premises  of  the 
merchants,  and  the  forts  flew  bunting,  as  if  for 
a  demonstration  to  royalty  itself.  At  noon  fare- 
wells were  said,  and  a  dozen  willing  boats  towed 
the  Heart  of  the  West  down  the  harbour  and 
through  the  Narrows. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

PIERRE  D'ANTONS  SIGNALS  HIS  OLD  COMRADES,  AND 
AGAIN  PUTS  TO  SEA 

THE  wilderness,  that  grim  thing  of  naked  rock, 
brown  barren,  gray  marsh,  and  black  wood,  which 
had  claimed  the  mad  baronet  so  surely,  was  unable 
to  keep  Pierre  d'Antons  in  its  spacious  prison. 
With  the  return  of  summer,  the  dark  adventurer 
and  the  Beothic  girl  deserted  their  inland  retreat, 
and  set  out  for  a  certain  grim  cape  which  thrusts 
far.  into  the  Atlantic.  The  crown  of  that  cape 
affords  an  uninterrupted  view  to  seaward  and  north 
and  south  across  the  waters  of  two  great  bays.  A 
fire  at  night,  or  a  column  of  smoke  in  the  day, 
glowing  or  streaming  upward  from  that  vantage 
place,  would  be  sighted  from  the  deck  of  a  passing 
ship  at  a  distance  of  many  miles. 

The  journey  proved  a  long  and  trying  one, 
through  swamps  and  barrens,  and  over  rock-tumbled 
knolls.  Streams  were  forded,  lakes  circumambu- 
lated, and  rivers  crossed  on  insecure  rafts. 

294 


D'Antons   Again   Puts  to   Sea      295 

Through  it  all,  the  native  girl,  Miwandi,  kept  a 
brave  heart  and  bright  face.  D'Antons,  however, 
was  preoccupied  in  his  manner,  and  even  gloomy 
at  times.  The  hardships  of  that  wild  existence  had 
begun  to  tell  on  his  body,  and  the  loneliness  to 
fret  his  nerves.  His  infatuation  for  Mistress  West- 
leigh  had  dimmed  and  faded  out  altogether,  leaving 
only  a  mean  desire  for  the  salve  of  revenge  with 
which  to  soothe  his  injured  pride.  He  would 
wound  her  through  Kingswell.  Sometimes  a  fear 
oppressed  him  that  his  men  might  have  forgotten 
his  mastery  by  this  time,  and  might  fail,  after  the 
two  seasons  of  silence,  to  continue  their  cruising 
of  those  northern  waters  throughout  June  and  July, 
as  he  had  commanded.  But  that  doubt  only  trou- 
bled him  in  his  darkest  moods.  The  loyalty  of  his 
subordinate  buccaneers  of  the  Cristobal  was  not  to 
be  questioned  seriously,  for  it  had  been  tested  in 
many  tight  places.  Comradeship  often  forms  as 
trusty  ties  between  the  hearts  of  pirates  as  between 
the  hearts  of  honest  gentlemen.  Once  grown  be- 
yond the  temptations  of  greed  and  treachery,  it 
is  a  safe  thing,  this  loyalty  of  desperate  men  for 
their  messmates. 

It  was  Pierre  d'Antons'  dream  to  regain  the  deck 
of  the  Cristobal  (with  Miwandi,  of  course),  and 
to  appear,  some  fine  day,  before  the  little  fort  of 


296  Brothers  of  Peril 

Gray  Goose  River;  to  put  the  settlers  to  the  sword, 
the  buildings  to  the  torch,  and  to  carry  the  English 
beauty  away  with  him.  He  felt  that  his  passion 
for  the  proud  lady  might  be  easily  and  pleasantly 
refired.  But  he  made  no  mention  of  Mistress  West- 
leigh  to  Miwandi,  the  Beothic  girl. 

After  more  than  a  week  of  hard  travelling, 
the  two  ascended  the  wooded  ridge  which  runs 
seaward  to  the  bleak  and  elevated  acres  of  the  grim 
cape  of  their  desire.  In  a  shaggy  grove  they  set 
up  their  lodge.  At  the  extremity  of  the  headland, 
high  above  the  wheeling,  screaming  gulls  and  nod- 
dies, D'Antons  built  a  circular  fireplace  of  the  stones 
that  lay  about.  Completed,  it  looked  like  an  altar 
reared  by  some  benighted  priesthood  to  the  gods 
of  the  wind  and  the  sea.  But  no  such  thougHt 
occurred  to  its  architect.  His  case  was  too  des- 
perate to  allow  his  mind  to  indulge  in  such  whim- 
sical fancies. 

While  the  woman  went  in  quest  of  food  —  fish, 
flesh,  or  fowl,  what  did  it  matter  which  ?  —  the 
man  gathered  wood  and  piled  it  near  the  queer 
hearth.  He  worked  without  intermission  until  Mi- 
wandi returned  from  her  foraging  with  a  string 
of  bright  trout  in  her  hand.  Then  he  built  a  mod- 
est fire  within  the  rough  walls  of  his  furnace,  and 
helped  the  girl  clean  and  cook  the  fish.  By  that 


D'Antons  Again   Puts  to  Sea      297 

time  the  glow  of  the  afternoon  was  centred  behind 
the  gloomy  hills,  and  a  clear  twilight  was  over  the 
sea;  but  as  yet  the  atmosphere  held  no  suggestion 
of  dusk.  No  sail  broke  the  wide  expanse  of  dark 
blue  ocean  with  its  flake  of  gray;  but  to  the  nor'- 
east  a  whale  breached  and  blew  its  little  fountain 
of  spray  across  the  still  line  of  the  horizon.  D'An- 
tons and  Miwandi  noted  these  things  as  they  ate, 
but  made  no  comment  upon  them. 

For  several  days  after  the  arrival  of  the  two 
upon  the  overseeing  headland,  D'Antons  made  no 
other  use  of  his  furnace  than  for  the  cooking  of 
meals.  For  that  purpose  it  served  admirably,  for 
the  walls  protected  the  flame  from  the  ever-flying 
winds  that  prevailed  over  that  exposed  spot.  The 
adventurer  knew  that  he  was  early  for  the  Cristobal. 
Several  sails  were  detected;  but  of  them  the  only 
heed  taken  was  the  precaution  of  blanketing  the 
little  fire  in  the  hearth  with  damp  soil.  The  French- 
man did  not  desire  a  visit  from  fishermen  of  any 
nationality  whatever.  He  might  find  it  difficult 
to  explain  his  presence  in  so  unfavourable  a  spot 
for  either  a  fishery  or  a  settlement.  No  doubt  they 
would  persist  in  rescuing  him,  and,  in  that  case, 
what  reason  could  he  give  for  wishing  to  stay  in  his 
cheerless  camp?  So  he  lay  low  and  watched  the 


298  Brothers  of  Peril 

passing  of  more  than  one  stout  craft  without  a 
sign. 

The  time  arrived  when  he  must  set  his  signals, 
despite  the  risk  of  attracting  unwelcome  visitors. 
So  he  closed  the  front  of  the  furnace  with  a 
boulder,  built  a  brisk  fire  within,  which  he  heaped 
with  damp  moss  and  punk,  and  then  laid  a  large, 
flat  stone  over  the  opening  in  the  top  of  the  unique 
structure.  By  removing  the  flat  stone,  he  allowed 
a  column  of  dense  smoke  to  issue  into  the  air, 
stream  aloft  and  scatter  in  the  wind.  By  replacing 
the  stone,  the  smoke  was  cut  short  off.  Finding  that 
the  contrivance  worked  to  his  satisfaction,  he  let 
the  smoke  stream  up,  uninterrupted.  The  signal- 
ling would  only  be  resorted  to  when  a  vessel,  which 
might  possibly  be  the  Cristobal,  should  be  sighted. 
When  darkness  fell,  the  fire  was  allowed  to  die 
down.  A  night  signal  was  unnecessary,  as  the 
Cristobal,  should  she  keep  the  tryst  at  all,  was  sure 
to  make  an  examination  of  the  cape  by  daylight. 
D'Antons'  last  orders  had  been  strictly  and  par- 
ticularly to  that  effect. 

A  week  passed,  during  which  a  sharp  lookout  was 
kept  by  the  fugitives  on  the  brow  of  the  cape,  and 
the  signal  of  smoke  was  operated  a  dozen  times 
without  the  desired  effect.  In  fact,  a  large  vessel, 
attracted  by  the  smoke  (which  was  due  to  D'An- 


D'Antons  Again   Puts  to  Sea      299 

tons'  tardy  realization  that  the  approaching  ship 
was  not  the  Cristobal)  altered  her  course,  sailed 
close  in,  and  sent  a  boat  ashore  to  investigate. 
D'Antons  and  Miwandi  had  just  enough  time,  with 
not  a  minute  to  spare,  to  roll  up  their  wigwam 
and  hide  it  in  the  bushes,  gather  together  their  most 
valuable  belongings,  and  flee  inland  to  a  shelter  of 
tangled  spruces  and  firs.  The  boat's  crew  was  conv- 
posed  of  peaceful  fishermen,  who  were  free  from 
suspicion  and  malice.  They  climbed  to  the  brow 
of  the  promontory  with  fine  hardihood,  but  once 
there  did  little  but  examine  the  marks  where  the 
lodge  had  so  lately  stood  and  partially  overthrow 
the  queer  fireplace.  They  believed  that  structure 
to  be  an  altar,  built  to  the  glory  of  some  unortho- 
dox god.  Then  they  retraced  their  perilous  way 
to  the  little  cove  under  the  cliff,  and  rowed  back 
to  the  ship.  D'Antons  stole  from  his  retreat  and 
crawled  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  He  felt  a  glow 
of  satisfaction  when  the  big  vessel  stood  away  on 
her  northward  course. 

Another  week  drifted  along,  and  hope  wavered 
in  the  buccaneer  heart.  His  gloomy  moods  began 
to  wear  on  the  young  squaw's  spirits.  She  begged 
him  to  return  to  the  inland  rivers  —  to  make  peace 
with  her  people  —  to  cease  his  unprofitable  star- 
ing at  the  sea. 


300  Brothers   of  Peril 

"  The  sorrow  of  the  great  salt  water  has  entered 
your  heart,"  she  said,  "  and  the  moaning  of  it  has 
deafened  your  ears  to  my  voice." 

He  did  not  turn  his  eyes  from  the  undulations 
of  the  gray  horizon.  "  Would  you  have  me  rot 
in  this  place  for  the  remainder  of  my  life?"  he 
asked,  harshly,  in  her  language. 

The  poor  girl  sobbed  for  an  hour  after  that,  and 
reproved  her  heart  for  the  image  of  a  god  it  had 
set  up.  She  tried  to  overthrow  the  idol  from  its 
inner  shrine;  she  tried  to  change  it  to  a  grim 
symbol  of  hate;  she  pressed  her  face  to  the  coarse 
herbage,  and  tore  the  sod  with  her  fingers. 

"  Miwandi !  Come  to  me,  little  one,"  cried  the 
man  from  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

Her  anger,  her  bitterness,  vanished  like  thinnest 
smoke.  She  sprang  up  and  ran  to  him.  He  drew 
her  to  his  side,  and  with  his  right  hand  pointed 
southward  across  the  glinting  deep. 

"The  Cristobal!"  he  cried.  "Good  God,  I'll 
stake  my  life  on  it !  " 

So  intense  was  his  satisfaction  at  the  sight  of 
those  unmistakable  topsails  that  his  selfish  affection 
for  the  woman  lighted  again.  He  pressed  his  lips 
to  the  tear-wet  cheek;  and  immediately  the  simple 
creature  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  bliss. 

While  the  gray  flake  of  sail  expanded  on  the 


D'Antons  Again   Puts  to   Sea      301 

horizon,  Pierre  d'Antons  and  the  woman  hurriedly 
and  roughly  rebuilt  the  walls  of  the  fireplace,  lit 
and  fed  a  blaze,  and  piled  it  high  with  moss  and 
rotten  bark.  The  thick  pillar  of  smoke  arose  like 
a  tree,  and  bent  in  the  moderate  wind.  Miwandi 
busied  herself  with  breaking  the  wood  to  the  re- 
quired length  and  carrying  damp  moss.  For  sev- 
eral minutes  the  smoke  was  allowed  to  ascend  in 
an  unbroken  shaft.  Then  D'Antons  cut  it  off  for 
a  few  seconds,  let  it  rise  again,  broke  it  again,  and 
again  let  it  stream  aloft,  uninterrupted.  He  had 
signalled  his  name  according  to  the  code  of  the 
Cristobal. 

The  welcome  ship  gradually  enlarged  to  the  eager 
eyes  of  the  watchers  on  the  cape.  North,  east,  and 
south  there  was  no  other  sail  in  sight.  At  last  three 
flags  ran  up  to  the  topforemast  and  fluttered  out. 
The  question  was  read  instantly  by  D'Antons,  who 
returned  to  his  fire  and  interrupted  the  stream  of 
smoke  five  time  in  quick  succession.  The  translation 
of  that  was  "  All's  well.  You  may  approach  with- 
out danger." 

A  message  of  congratulation  appeared  promptly 
against  the  bellying  foresail  of  the  Cristobal;  and 
the  watchers  saw  the  rolls  of  white  foam  gleaming 
like  wool  under  the  forging  of  the  bow. 

D'Antons   was   cordially   welcomed   aboard   the 


302  Brothers  of  Peril 

Cristobal.  Miwandi  was  received  without  ques- 
tion. The  acting  commander  of  the  ship  was  a 
grizzled  Spanish  mariner  by  the  name  of  Silva, 
—  a  fellow  steeped  in  crime  and  uncertain  of  tem- 
per, yet  possessed  of  a  marvellous  devotion  for 
D'Antons,  which  was  due  to  an  act  of  kindness 
performed  by  the  Frenchman  years  before,  in  the 
town  of  Panama. 

Silva  was  delighted  to  find  his  captain  alive  and 
ready  for  the  high  seas  again.  He  asked  no  ques- 
tions concerning  his  adventures  until  more  than  one 
bottle  of  wine  had  been  emptied,  and  the  captain's 
travel-stained  garments  had  been  exchanged  for  the 
best  the  cabin  lockers  contained.  Miwandi,  too, 
was  reclothed;  and  the  beauty  and  softness  of  the 
silks  that  were  presented  to  her  fairly  turned  her 
little  head.  She  did  not  know  that  the  fair  French 
lady  for  whom  they  had  been  made,  in  gay  Paris, 
and  who  had  worn  them  only  three  months  ago,  was 
somewhere  in  the  dredge  of  emerald  tides  between 
the  Bahaman  reefs.  She  knew  only  that  the  tex- 
ture and  colours  delighted  her  skin  and  her  eyes. 
So,  in  her  narrow  room,  she  attired  herself  in  the 
finery,  toiling  at  the  ties  and  lacing  with  unfamiliar 
fingers. 

In  the  captain's  cabin  D'Antons  motioned  to  his 
friend  to  close  the  door.  He  had  consumed  a  soup, 


D'Antons   Again   Puts  to  Sea      303 

and  was  still  engaged  with  the  wine.  Silva  returned 
to  his  seat  at  the  table,  after  a  final  reassuring  push 
on  the  bolt  of  the  door.  It  is  always  wise  to  be 
sure  that  the  door  you  considered  fastened  is  fas- 
tened indeed.  Then,  with  their  elbows  on  the  table 
and  their  heads  close  together,  the  more  salient 
incidents  of  D'Antons'  sojourn  in  the  wilderness 
were  rehearsed  and  keenly  listened  to.  Silva  dis- 
played a  prodigious  indignation  at  the  story  of  the 
captain's  failure  to  win  the  affections  of  Mistress 
Westleigh.  At  word  of  Sir  Ralph's  death  (and 
the  murder  became  a  desperate  duel  in  the  telling), 
a  crooked  smile  of  satisfaction  distorted  his  face. 
As  to  what  he  heard  of  Kingswell  —  ah,  but  oaths 
in  two  languages  were  quite  inadequate  for  the 
expression  of  his  feelings. 

"  We'll  inspect  the  heart  of  that  cockerel  —  and 
the  gizzard  as  well,"  said  he,  and  drank  off  his 
wine. 

"  Leave  him  to  my  hand,"  replied  D'Antons, 
darkly. 

Silva  nodded,  with  a  sinister  leer. 

"  So  it's  'bout  ship  and  blow  the  little  stockade 
into  everlasting  damnation,"  he  said. 

"  Ay,  but  the  lady  must  come  to  no  harm  in 
the  attack,"  warned  the  captain. 

So  the  Cristobal  headed  northward,  and  the  evil- 


304  Brothers  of  Peril 

looking  rascals  of  her  crew  were  informed  that 
the  morrow  would  bring  them  some  work  to  limber 
their  muscles.  The  information  was  received  with 
cheers,  in  which  hearty  English  voices  were  not 
lacking. 

However,  in  the  early  morning,  Fate,  in  the  shape 
of  the  Heart  of  the  West,  turned  the  danger  away 
from  the  little  fort. 

"  She  looks  like  a  likely  prize,"  said  D'Antons, 
when  he  sighted  the  ship.  The  old  fever  awoke 
in  his  blood.  He  longed  for  the  old  excitement. 

"  Give  chase,"  he  ordered.  "  The  fort  can  well 
do  without  the  honour  of  our  attentions  for  a  little 
while." 

So  the  chase  was  carried  on,  as  has  been  described 
in  a  previous  chapter,  and  went  merrily  enough  for 
the  Cristobal  until  the  unexpected  shot  from  the 
stern  of  the  quarry  brought  down  her  foretopmast 
and  its  weight  of  sail.  But  before  that  had  hap- 
pened, D'Antons,  unrecognizable  himself  in  new 
clothes  and  a  great  hat,  marked  Bernard  Kingswell 
on  the  poop  of  the  Heart  of  the  West.  He  cursed 
like  a  madman,  or  a  true-bred  pirate,  when  his  ship 
was  crippled. 

"  The  fort  may  rot  of  old  age  in  the  midst  of 
its  desolation,"  he  cried  to  Silva,  "  for  what  I 
would  have  is  aboard  that  cursed  craft  ahead." 


D'Antons  Again   Puts  to   Sea      305 

A  few  days  later,  with  their  spars  repaired,  they 
picked  up  a  small  fishing-boat,  and  learned  from 
the  skipper  that  a  great  ship  from  the  north  had 
entered  the  harbour  of  St.  John's.  So,  knowing 
the  virtue  of  precaution,  they  impressed  the  master 
and  crew  and  scuttled  the  little  vessel.  Then,  with 
admirable  patience,  they  cruised  up  and  down,  far 
to  seaward  of  the  brown  cliffs  which  guarded  that 
hospitable  port. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    BRIDEGROOM    ATTENDS    TO    OTHER    MATTERS 
THAN    LOVE 

THE  dainty  bride  leaned  on  her  husband's  arm, 
and  together  they  looked  back  and  waved  farewell. 
Flags  answered  them  from  the  battery  above  the 
cliff.  Then  she  turned  to  the  bridegroom  and  gazed 
into  his  eyes  with  so  radiant  and  tender  a  smile 
that,  all  forgetful  of  the  abashed  salt  at  the  tiller, 
he  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  on  brow  and 
lips. 

"  Dear  wife,"  he  murmured,  and  could  say  no 
more. 

Both  were  brave  in  marriage  finery,  —  she  in  a 
pearl  gown  of  brocaded  silk,  a  scarlet  cloak  lined 
with  white  fur,  and  a  feathered  hat,  and  he  in  buff 
and  blue  from  the  wardrobe  of  the  commandant 
of  St.  John's. 

They  gazed  astern,  across  the  dancing  azure,  to 
the  brown  and  purple  rocks  beautified  by  the  sun- 
light and  crystal  air.  "  Homeward  bound,"  she 

306 


Other  Matters  Than   Love        307 

whispered,  happily,  and  turned  her  face  from  the 
mellowing  coast  of  the  wilderness  to  the  wide  east. 

Together  they  walked  forward  to  the  break  of 
the  high  deck.  A  fair  wind  bellied  the  sails.  The 
tarred  rigging  and  scraped  spars  shone  like  polished 
metal.  The  men,  in  their  brightest  sashes  and 
cleanest  shirts  (in  honour  of  the  occasion),  went 
about  their  duties  briskly.  The  mates  wore  their 
side-arms;  both  watches  were  on  deck,  with  the 
gaiety  of  the  days  ashore  still  in  their  hearts.  Not 
a  soul  was  below  save  the  cook  (who  sorted  pro- 
visions in  the  forward  lazaret),  Maggie  Stone  (who 
sulked  in  her  mistress's  cabin  because  she  had  not 
been  asked  to  act  as  bridesmaid),  and  old  Trowley, 
with  wrists  and  legs  in  irons  and  a  dawning  re- 
pentance in  his  sullen  blood. 

An  hour  later  Ouenwa  ascended  the  starboard 
ladder  from  the  waist,  and  stood  beside  Master  and 
Mistress  Kingswell.  He  wore  a  dashing  outfit, 
which  had  been  made  to  his  shape  by  the  garrison 
tailor  in  the  days  preceding  the  marriage.  A  sword 
was  at  his  belt;  lace  hung  at  his  wrists;  his  dark 
hair,  slightly  curled,  fell  to  his  shoulders.  His 
tanned  cheeks  were  flushed  with  the  excitement 
passed  and  the  adventures  anticipated.  Only  the 
dark  alertness  of  his  eyes  and  the  litheness  of  his 
actions  bespoke  his  primitive  upbringing.  Though 


308  Brothers  of  Peril 

he  had  been  named  "  dreamer  "  by  his  people,  he 
gave  promise  now  of  a  life  of  deeds  rather  than 
of  dreams. 

"  Do  you  mourn  the  little  stockade  and  the  great 
river,  lad  ?  "  queried  Kingswell,  laying  a  hand  on 
the  boy's  shoulder. 

Ouenwa  shook  his  head  emphatically  and  glanced 
knowingly  aloft.  "  Why  should  I  mourn  them  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  Am  I  not  bound  for  castles  and  great 
houses,  for  books  in  number  as  the  leaves  of  the 
birch-tree,  and  for  villages  filled  all  day  with  war- 
riors, and  with  ladies  almost  as  fair  as  Mistress 
Beatrix?  Shall  I  not  read  in  the  books,  and  see 
horses,  greater  than  caribou,  bearing  gentlemen 
upon  their  backs?  Then  why  would  you  have  me 
mourn?  The  land  behind  us  is  not  a  good  land. 
My  fathers  were  brave  and  wise,  and  led  their 
warriors  to  a  hundred  victories;  but  they  were 
murdered  by  their  own  people.  I  care  not  for  such 
a  country." 

"  True,  lad,"  replied  Kingswell,  "  and  yet,  even 
in  glorious  England,  you  may  find  ingratitude  as 
black  as  that  of  Panounia.  Even  kings  and  queens 
have  been  guilty  of  ingratitude." 

Beatrix  patted  the  moralist's  arm. 

"  Why  think  of  it  now  ?  "  she  said,  gently,  "  and 
why  fill  the  dear  lad  with  doubt?  Only  if  he  climbs 


Other   Matters  Than  Love        309 

high  need  he  fear  disloyalty.  As  a  plain  soldier,  he 
shall  never  lack  the  protection  of  such  humble 
friends  as  ourselves." 

Just  then  a  lookout  warned  them  of  a  sail  on 
the  larboard  bow.  Kingswell  and  Ouenwa  went 
forward  to  the  forecastle-head.  Tom  Bent  (now  of 
the  rank  of  chief  gunner)  was  already  there,  peer- 
ing away  under  the  lift  of  the  jibs.  The  second 
mate  was  with  him. 

"  A  large  vessel,"   remarked   Kingswell. 

"  Ay,  and  we's  spoke  mun  afore  now,  sir,"  re- 
plied Bent.  He  was  too  intent  on  gazing  ahead 
to  see  the  question  in  the  captain's  face.  But  the 
mate  saw  it  and  answered  it. 

"  She's  run  up  a  new  spar,  sir,  an'  mended  her 
for'ard  riggin',"  said  he,  "  an'  like  enough  she 
thinks  she'll  take  the  cost  of  damages  out  o'  us." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Kingswell,  with  a  note  of  rel- 
ish. Then  he  remembered  Beatrix,  and  a  shadow 
darkened  his  eyes  for  a  moment.  "  Pipe  both 
watches,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Arm  all  hands.  Clear 
decks  for  action.  Master  Gunner,  you  must  fight 
your  barkers  to-day  for  more  than  the  glory  of 
England." 

He  returned  to  his  wife  and  told  her  of  the 
menace.  She  heard  the  news  with  an  inward  sick? 


310  Brothers  of  Peril 

ening,  but  with  no  outward  tremor.  All  her  fear 
was  for  him. 

"  Promise  me  that  you  will  go  to  our  cabin  when 
I  give  the  word,"  he  asked. 

She  nodded  and  smiled  wistfully.  "  Your  obedi- 
ent, humble  wife,  my  lord,"  she  whispered,  with  a 
brave  attempt  at  gaiety. 

He  caught  her  hands  quickly  to  his  shoulders 
and  kissed  her  lips.  He  felt  them  tremble  against 
his. 

"  I  must  help  with  the  preparations,  dear  heart," 
he  murmured,  and  hurried  away.  He  consulted  the 
mates  and  Tom  Bent  as  to  the  advisability  of  beat- 
ing back  for  St.  John's.  The  mariners  shook  their 
heads.  They  held  that  the  Heart  of  the  West  could 
make  a  better  fight  on  her  present  course ;  and  that 
the  battle  would  be  decided,  one  way  or  another, 
before  the  garrison  could  send  them  any  help.  As 
if  to  confirm  their  views,  the  wind  freshened  to 
such  a  degree,  and  held  so  fair  astern,  that  to  beat 
to  windward  would  require  all  hands  at  the  sails, 
and  put  gunnery  out  of  the  question. 

"  Like  enough  they  be  double  our  strength  in 
men,"  said  Tom  Bent,  "  but  we  equals  'em  in  guns 
and  seamanship,  sir,  an'  ye  may  lay  to  that." 

So  the  Heart  of  the  West  held  on  her  course 
under  a  press  of  canvas. 


Other   Matters  Than   Love        311 

After  Kingswell  and  Beatrix  had  talked  to- 
gether for  some  time,  they  went  forward,  hand  in 
hand,  to  the  break  of  the  poop.  Tom  Bent  called 
the  ship's  company  to  attention.  The  brave  fellows, 
stripped  to  their  breeches  and  shirts  in  readiness 
for  the  approaching  encounter,  looked  up,  and  such 
as  wore  caps  doffed  them  respectfully. 

"  My  brave  lads,"  cried  the  lady,  in  a  voice  that 
rang  clear  above  the  stir  of  wind  and  wave  and 
tugging  cordage,  "  but  this  morning  you  made 
merry  for  my  sake;  and  now,  in  so  little  a  while, 
you  will  risk  your  lives  in  defending  your  ship  and 
me  from  that  pirate  whom  we  have  already  en- 
countered. My  husband,  —  your  captain,  —  like  a 
true-bred  English  sailor,  is  already  sure  of  victory. 
A  generous  mariner,  he  has  promised  me  the  prize; 
and  now  I  promise  it  to  you.  In  a  few  weeks'  time, 
my  lads,  we  shall  sell  our  enemy  in  Bristol  docks. 
Not  a  penny  of  her  price  shall  go  to  owner  or 
captain ;  but  all  into  the  pockets  of  this  brave  com- 
pany. And  should  any  man  fall  in  the  encounter, 
I  pledge  my  word  that  those  dependent  upon  him 
shall  lack  nothing  that  money  can  give  them  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  their  lives.  Now,  fight  well, 
for  God  and  for  England." 

She  looked  down  at  them,  smiling  divinely. 


312  Brothers  of  Peril 

"  And  for  the  Lady  Beatrix,"  shouted  a  youthful 
seaman. 

Cheers  rang  aloft;  bearded  lips  and  shaven  lips 
bawled  her  name;  and  great,  toil-seared  hands  were 
brandished,  and  stark  blades  gleamed  in  the  sun- 
light. 

"  God  bless  you,  lady,"  they  roared. 

She  leaned  forward  and  blew  a  kiss  from  her  lips 
with  both  dainty  hands. 

"God  strengthen  you,  brave  hearts,"  she  cried, 
softly;  and  the  nearer  of  the  loyal  mariners  saw 
the  tears  shimmering  beneath  her  lashes. 

The  Heart  of  the  West  held  on  her  course,  break- 
ing the  waves  in  fountains  from  her  forging  bow. 
The  Cristobal  raced  down  upon  her  with  the  wind 
square  abeam.  It  was  evidently  her  intention  to 
cross  the  merchantman's  bows  and  rake  her  with 
a  broadside. 

Aboard  the  Heart  of  the  West  every  man  was  at 
his  post,  and  the  matches  were  like  pale  stars  in 
the  hands  of  the  gunners.  The  second  mate  was 
on  the  forecastle-head,  beside  the  bow-chaser.  The 
first  mate  stood  in  the  waist.  Kingswell  paced  the 
poop,  fore  and  aft.  Each  measured  and  calculated 
the  brisk  approach  of  the  Cristobal  with  unwinking 
eyes,  and  considered  the  straining  sails  overhead 
and  the  speed  of  the  wind. 


Other   Matters  Than  Love        313 

Still  the  pirate  boiled  down  upon  them,  leaning 
over  in  the  press  of  the  half -gale.  It  was  evident 
to  Kingswell  that  she  would  pass  across  his  bows 
within  a  distance  of  a  hundred  yards,  unless  some- 
thing was  done  to  prevent  it.  He  spoke  quietly 
to  the  men  at  the  tiller,  and  called  an  order  to 
the  officer  amidships.  Twenty  seconds  later  he 
gave  the  signal.  The  tiller  was  pushed  over,  the 
yards  were  hauled  around,  and  the  good  ship  swung 
to  the  north  and  took  the  wind  on  her  larboard 
beam.  Now  the  vessels  leaned  on  the  same  course, 
and  were  not  two  hundred  yards  apart.  Almost 
at  the  same  moment  they  exchanged  broadsides, 
and  the  challenging  shouts  of  men  mingled  with 
the  roaring  of  the  little  cannonades.  The  smoke 
from  the  merchantman's  ports  blew  down,  in  a 
stifling  cloud,  upon  the  enemy.  The  Cristobal  fell 
off  before  the  wind  in  an  unaccountable  manner. 
The  Heart  of  the  West  luffed,  in  the  hope  of  bring- 
ing her  heavy  after-battery  to  bear,  saw  that  the 
manoeuvre  could  not  be  accomplished,  and  flew 
about  on  her  old  course. 

"Her  tiller  is  shot  away,"  cried  Kingswell.  A 
cheer  rang  along  the  decks  and  penetrated  the  cab- 
ins fore  and  aft.  Beatrix  heard  it,  and  thanked 
God.  Old  Trowley  heard  it,  and,  beating  his  man- 


31 4  Brothers  of  Peril 

acled  wrists  against  the  bulkhead,  roared  to  be  cast 
loose  that  he  might  bear  a  hand  in  the  fight. 

From  that  first  exchange  of  round-shot,  the 
Heart  of  the  West  escaped  without  hurt,  owing 
to  the  fact  that  the  enemy's  guns,  elevated  by  the 
pressure  of  the  gale  upon  her  windward  side,  sent 
their  missiles  high  between  the  upper  spars  of  the 
merchantman.  The  Cristobal,  however,  was  hulled 
by  two  balls,  and  had  her  tiller  carried  away  by  a 
third ;  for,  just  as  her  guns  were  elevated  to  harm- 
lessness  by  the  list  of  the  deck,  so  were  the  mer- 
chantman's depressed  to  a  deadly  aim  by  the  list 
of  hers. 

Taking  every  advantage  which  a  sound  tiller  and 
perfectly  trimmed  sails  gave  her  over  her  enemy, 
the  Heart  of  the  West  raced  after  the  buccaneer. 
Passing  close  astern,  she  raked  her  with  her  three 
larboard  guns.  Running  on,  and  slanting  across 
the  wind's  course  more  and  more,  she  presently 
had  her  two  after-guns  to  bear  on  the  three-quarter 
target  of  the  Cristobal's  starboard  side.  The  range 
was  middling;  but,  even  so,  the  gunners  sent  up 
a  prayer  to  Luck,  so  violent  were  the  soarings  and 
sinkings  of  the  deck.  The  shots  were  followed  by 
a  tottering  of  high  sails  above  the  Cristobal,  and 
with  a  flapping  and  rending,  the  mizzenmast  fell 
forward  and  stripped  the  main  of  three  of  her  yards. 


Other   Matters  Than   Love        315 

Now  the  disabled,  tillerless  Cristobal,  kept  before 
the  wind  by  a  great  sweep,  fled  heavily.  Her  decks 
were  cluttered  with  snarled  wreckage.  Half  a 
dozen  of  her  crew  were  injured.  Her  commander 
and  Master  Silva  were  mad  with  rage  at  the  un- 
expected turn  of  events. 

Aboard  the  Heart  of  the  West,  Ouenwa  had  just 
pointed  out  to  Kingswell  the  dashing  figure  of 
Pierre  d'Antons. 

"  I  take  it  that  this  is  his  last  play,"  remarked 
the  young  captain,  with  a  grim  smile. 

For  another  hour  the  merchantman  sailed  about 
the  pirate  at  her  will,  pouring  broadside  after  broad- 
side into  hull  and  rigging,  and  sustaining  but  little 
damage  herself.  Now  and  then  musket-shots  were 
exchanged.  Two  of  Kingswell's  men  were 
wounded,  and  were  promptly  carried  below,  where 
their  hurts  were  tenderly  bandaged  by  Mistress 
Kingswell  and  Maggie  Stone. 

In  a  lull  of  the  firing,  the  cook  came  running 
to  the  poop,  with  word  that  Trowley  was  in  a  fair 
way  to  make  matchwood  of  his  surroundings. 

"What  ails  him  now?"  inquired  Kingswell. 

"  He  be  shoutin'  for  a  chance  at  the  Frenchers," 
replied  the  cook.  Kingswell  considered  the  matter, 
with  a  calculating  eye  on  the  enemy.  "  Cast  him 


31 6  Brothers  of  Peril 

loose,"  said  he,  "  and  give  him  a  chance  to  prove 
himself  an  English  sailor  man." 

Trowley  appeared  on  deck  just  as  a  shot  from 
the  Cristobal  struck  the  teakwood  rail  of  the  Heart 
of  the  West  amidships.  A  flying  splinter  whirred 
past  his  head.  He  brandished  his  cutlass,  and 
bawled  a  threat  across  the  rocking  water.  The 
men  at  the  guns  welcomed  him  with  laughter  and 
cheers. 

"  Ye  be  in  for  the  kill,  master,"  cried  one. 

Kingswell  beckoned  the  ex-commander  aft,  and 
met  him  at  the  top  of  the  ladder.  Trowley  looked 
guiltily  this  way  and  that. 

"  I  have  let  you  up,  my  man,"  said  the  captain, 
"  that  you  may  bear  a  hand  in  the  fight.  I  am  will- 
ing to  forget  your  knaveries  of  the  past,  and  re- 
member only  your  actions  of  to-day." 

Trowley  nodded,  and  for  an  instant  his  eyes  met 
Kingswell's. 

"  You  can  see  what  we  have  done  to  the  enemy," 
said  the  other.  "  But  I  am  in  no  mind  to  break  her 
up  with  this  everlasting  cannonading.  What  would 
you  suggest  ?  " 

Trowley  straightened  his  great  shoulders  and 
lifted  his  head.  "  Lay  her  aboard,  sir,"  said  he, 
"  an'  make  fast." 


CHAPTER    XXXVL 

OVER   THE   SIDE 

WITH  a  fearful  grinding  of  timbers  and  rattling 
of  spars,  the  merchantman's  larboard  bow  scraped 
along  the  enemy's  side.  Boarding-irons  were 
thrown  across  from  the  forecastle-deck.  With  a 
yell,  the  men  of  Devon  sprang  from  rail  to  rail, 
and  hurled  themselves  upon  the  mongrels  who  clus- 
tered to  repulse  them.  Cutlasses  skirred  in  the 
air;  and  some  struck  clanging  metal,  and  some  met 
with  a  softer  resistance.  Screams  of  rage  and  pain, 
and  shouts  of  grim  exultation,  rang  above  the  con- 
flict. 

Old  Trowley  hacked  a  place  for  himself  in  the 
thickest  of  the  press,  and  laid  about  him  with  such 
desperate  fury  and  such  fearful  oaths  that  the  buc- 
caneers hustled  each  other  to  get  out  of  his  way. 

Kingswell,  in  the  waist  of  the  Cristobal,  en- 
countered D'Antons,  and  claimed  him  for  his  own. 
As  their  blades  rasped  together,  D'Antons  began  the 
story  of  Sir  Ralph  Westleigh's  death  in  the  wilder- 


318  Brothers  of  Peril 

ness.  Kingswell  heard  it  without  comment.  The 
tumult  about  them  gradually  subsided,  as  man  after 
man  of  the  pirate  crew  was  cut  down  or  bound. 
Sail  was  shortened  on  both  vessels,  and  the  victors, 
sound  and  wounded  alike,  gathered  about  the  two 
swordsmen.  A  strained  silence  took  possession  of 
the  watchers.  The  rough  fellows  understood  that 
their  captain  had  an  old  score  to  settle  with  the 
buccaneer.  They  were  fascinated  by  the  lightning 
play  of  the  rapiers.  They  noted  every  movement  of 
foot  and  hand,  blade  and  eye.  When  D'Antons 
snarled  an  insulting  taunt  at  his  adversary,  they 
cursed  softly.  When  their  captain  pricked  the 
pirate's  shoulder,  a  husky  murmur  of  admiration 
went  through  them.  So  intent  were  they  on  the 
fight  that  they  failed  to  notice  the  approach  of 
Miwandi,  the  Beothic  woman,  until  she  was  in  their 
midst.  But  they  became  aware  of  her  presence 
when  she  screamed  with  rage  and  flung  herself 
upon  Kingswell. 

"  Pull  the  wench  off,"  they  cried,  and  made  a 
futile  grab  at  the  mad  figure. 

Kingswell,  quick  as  a  cat  for  all  his  Saxon  col- 
ouring, wrenched  himself  clear  of  her,  avoided  the 
slash  of  her  knife  by  a  half-inch,  and  lunged 
through  D'Antons'  guard.  The  buccaneer  pitched 
forward  so  suddenly  and  heavily  that  the  rapier 


Over   the  Side  319 

was  wrenched  from  the  Englishman's  hand.  The 
hilt  struck  the  deck.  The  slim  blade  darted  out 
between  D'Antons'  shoulders  a  full  two-thirds  of 
its  length.  He  sprawled  on  his  face,  gulping  his 
last  breath;  and  the  hilt  of  Kingswell's  weapon 
knocked  spasmodically  on  the  red  planking  of  the 
deck.  The  woman,  stunned  with  grief,  was  led 
away  by  two  of  the  seamen. 

By  the  time  the  duel  was  over,  the  long,  northern 
twilight  was  drawing  to  a  close.  The  decks  of  the 
Cristobal  were  cleared  of  the  dead  bodies  and  the 
wreckage  of  guns  and  spars.  The  torn  rigging  was 
partially  repaired ;  a  few  sails  were  set ;  and  the  shat- 
tered tiller  was  replaced.  The  prisoners  (wounded 
and  sound  together,  they  did  not  number  a  dozen) 
were  divided  between  the  ships.  A  prize-crew  of 
seven,  under  the  first  mate's  command,  went  aboard 
the  Cristobal.  Then  the  boarding-irons  were  cast 
loose,  and  the  vessels  fell  away  from  each  other  to 
a  safe  distance. 

Miwandi's  grief  was  desperate.  Beatrix  strove 
to  comfort  her,  but  failed  signally.  Her  position 
was  evident  enough  to  every  one  who  had  seen  her 
frantic  attempt  to  assist  D'Antons  in  the  encounter 
with  Kingswell.  Beatrix  guessed  the  story.  Her 
face  burned  at  remembrance  of  her  one-time  com- 
panionship with  D'Antons  —  of  the  days  before 


320  Brothers  of  Peril 

she  fully  knew  his  nature,  and  often  sat  at  cards 
and  chess  with  him  in  the  little  cabin  in  the  wilder- 
ness —  and  of  the  days  before  that,  when  he  was 
one  of  her  admirers  in  London.  Even  now  she  did 
not  know  him  for  her  father's  murderer.  Kings- 
well  had  decided  to  keep  that  to  himself,  until  some 
day  in  the  happy  future,  when  the  wilderness  should 
be  fainter  than  the  memory  of  a  dream  in  his  wife's 
mind. 

For  three  days  the  ships  kept  within  sight  of  each 
other.  On  the  fourth,  a  gale  of  wind  drove  them 
apart;  but  Kingswell  felt  no  anxiety  for  the  prize, 
for  she  had  received  no  serious  damage  to  her  hull 
in  the  bitter  encounter  that  had  befallen  on  his 
wedding-day. 

Aboard  the  Heart  of  the  West  the  wounded  im- 
proved daily;  the  prisoners  cursed  their  irons  and 
their  luck;  the  crew  never  pulled  on  a  rope  with- 
out a  song  to  lighten  the  task;  old  Trowley,  pro- 
moted from  imprisonment  to  the  position  of  second 
mate,  worked  like  a  Trojan,  and  Beatrix  and  Ber- 
nard sped  the  hours  in  the  high  and  golden  atmos- 
phere of  love  and  youth.  The  Beothic  woman,  how- 
ever, felt  no  response  in  her  heart  to  the  stir  and 
happiness  about  her.  Her  world  had  fallen  in  a 
desolation  of  emptiness,  and  her  very  soul  was 
weary  of  the  sequence  of  day  and  night,  night  and 


Over   the  Side  321 

day.  She  would  not  eat.  She  sobbed  quietly,  with- 
out rest,  in  her  darkened  berth.  Her  ears  were 
deaf  to  words  of  comfort,  even  when  they  were 
spoken  in  her  own  language  by  Ouenwa.  She 
asked  no  questions.  Ever  since  that  first  outbreak, 
at  sight  of  her  lover's  danger,  she  accepted  the  will 
of  her  pitiless  gods  without  signs  of  either  anger 
or  wonder. 

One  still  night,  when  the  waves  rocked  under 
the  faint  light  of  the  stars  without  any  breaking 
of  foam,  and  the  wind  was  just  sufficient  to  swell 
the  sails  from  the  yards,  the  man  at  the  tiller  was 
startled  from  his  reveries  by  a  splash  close  along- 
side. He  called  to  the  officer  of  the  watch,  who 
had  heard  nothing,  and  told  him  of  the  sound. 
They  scanned  the  sea  on  all  sides  and  listened  in- 
tently. They  saw  only  the  black,  vanishing  crests. 
They  heard  only  the  whispering  of  the  ship  on  her 
way. 

"  A  fish,"  said  the  mate.  The  other  agreed  with 
him. 

In  the  morning  Miwandi's  berth  was  discovered 
to  be  empty,  —  no  trace  of  her  was  found  alow  or 
aloft. 

The  remaining  days  of  the  passage  slipped  by 
without  any  especial  incident.  Winds  served. 
Seas  were  considerate  of  the  good  ship's  safety, 


322  Brothers  of  Peril 

No  fogs  endangered  the  young  lovers'  homeward 
voyage.  Every  night  there  was  riddling  in  the 
forecastle  and  the  chanting  of  rude  ballads.  And 
sometimes  in  the  cabin  a  violin  sang  and  sang, 
as  if  the  very  heart  of  happiness  were  under  the 
sounding-board,  and  Love  himself  in  the  strings. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

THE   MOTHER 

DAME  KINGSWELL,  the  widow  of  that  good 
merchant  of  Bristol  whom  Queen  Elizabeth  had 
knighted  in  her  latter  days,  sat  in  her  chamber  and 
looked  down  upon  a  pleasant  garden  beneath  the 
window.  She  was  alone.  Her  garments,  though 
of  rich  materials,  were  sombre  in  hue.  She  wore 
no  personal  ornaments  save  two  rings  on  her  left 
hand,  and  a  chain  of  gold,  bearing  a  small  cross 
of  the  same  metal,  at  her  breast.  Her  thick  hair 
was  snow-white.  In  her  youth  it  had  been  as  black 
as  her  husband's  had  been  flaxen.  Her  complexion 
held  scarcely  more  colour  than  her  hair.  On  her 
knees  a  book  of  devotional  poetry,  splendidly  il- 
luminated about  the  margins,  lay  open.  But  her 
thin  hands  were  folded  over  the  page,  and  her  gaze 
was  upon  the  shrubbery  of  the  garden.  The  time 
was  early  evening.  The  sunlight  Was  mellow  gold. 
The  hedges,  shrubs,  and  fountain  on  the  lawns 
threw  eastward  shadows. 

323 


324  Brothers  of  Peril 

The  chamber  in  which  the  widow  sat  was  large 
and  scantily  furnished.  A  few  portraits,  by  masters 
of  the  brush,  hung  along  the  walls.  A  prayer-desk, 
with  a  red  hassock  before  it,  stood  in  a  corner. 

A  light  rapping  sounded  on  the  door.  The  lady 
turned  her  eyes  from  the  bright  garden  below  her 
window.  She  saw  the  door  open,  and  a  beautiful 
girl  in  cloak  and  hat  enter  the  room.  The  stranger 
advanced  quickly,  in  a  whispering  of  silks,  and  in 
her  glowing  hands  took  the  widow's  bloodless  fin- 
gers. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  elder  woman,  kindly,  "  I 
fear  my  memory  is  flitting.  I  do  not  recall  your 
winsome  face.  Can  it  be  that  you  are  one  of  Sir 
Felix  Brown's  lasses,  grown  to  such  a  fine  young 
lady  in  London  ?  " 

The  girl  sank  on  her  knees  and  kissed  the  pale 
hands  lightly  and  prettily. 

"  My  name  is  Beatrix  Kingswell,"  she  murmured. 

The  good  dame  was  sorely  puzzled.  She  tried, 
in  vain,  to  connect  this  lovely  creature  with  any 
branches  of  the  late  knight's  family. 

"Then  you  are  a  kinswoman  of  mine?"  she 
queried.  "  Pray  do  not  kneel  there,  my  dear. 
Come  sit  in  the  window  and  tell  me  who  you  are." 

But  the  stranger  did  not  move. 

"  I  am  your  daughter,"  she  said.     "  And  —  oh, 


The  Mother  325 

do  not  swoon,  my  mother  —  Bernard  is  at  the  door, 
awaiting  your  permission  to  enter." 

The  widow  closed  her  eyes  for  a  second,  lean- 
ing back  in  her  chair.  She  recovered  herself  swiftly 
and  clutched  the  skirts  of  the  girl,  who  was  now 
standing,  ready  to  run  to  the  door  and  admit  her 
husband. 

"  What  story  is  this  ? "  she  cried,  incredulous. 
"  I  have  no  daughter.  And  Bernard,  my  son,  has 
lain  dead  in  a  far  land  these  weary  months." 

"  Nay,  dear  madam,"  replied  the  girl.  "  Nay, 
he  is  not  dead.  But  let  me  go  to  the  door,  and  you 
will  see  him  with  your  own  eyes.  He  waits  at  your 
threshold,  happy  and  well." 

The  older  woman  maintained  her  hold  of  her 
visitor's  gown.  "  And  who  are  you,  to  bring  me 
word  of  my  son's  return  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  ring 
of  shrewdness  and  suspicion  in  her  voice.  Dimly, 
she  feared  that  she  was  affording  sport  to  some 
heartless  person;  for  this  sudden  tale  of  her  son's 
safety,  brought  by  this  gay  young  lady,  had  broken 
upon  her  pensive  reveries  like  an  impossible  scene 
out  of  a  play. 

"  I  am  his  wife,"  replied  Beatrix.  With  an 
effort,  she  pulled  her  skirts  away  from  the  clutch- 
ing fingers,  and  sped  to  the  door.  Throwing  it 
open,  she  admitted  Bernard.  The  youth  sprang 


326  Brothers  of  Peril 

to  where  his  mother  sat,  and  caught  her  up  from 
her  chair  against  his  breast.  With  a  glad,  inartic- 
ulate cry,  she  slipped  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  clung  hysterically. 

Five  days  after  the  arrival  of  the  Heart  of  the 
West,  the  Cristobal  sailed  into  port.  By  that  time 
the  story  of  her  capture  was  well  known  in  the  town, 
and  a  crowd  of  citizens  gathered  on  the  docks  to 
welcome  her.  Master  Kingswell  put  her  up  for 
sale.  In  the  end,  he  bought  her  himself,  for  some- 
thing more  than  she  was  worth.  Every  penny  of 
the  money  Beatrix  gave  to  the  brave  fellows  who 
had  fought  and  sailed  their  ship  so  valorously  on 
her  eventful  wedding-day.  Only  that  rugged  and 
wayward  master  mariner,  John  Trowley,  failed  to 
show  himself  for  a  share  of  the  gold.  He  had  not 
the  courage  to  run  a  chance  of  another  meeting 
with  Lady  Kingswell. 

Of  the  future  of  Bernard,  Beatrix,  and  the  lad 
Ouenwa,  something  is  written  in  the  old  records 
in  an  exceeding  dry  vein.  Of  the  fate  of  the  little 
fort  on  Gray  Goose  River,  little  is  known.  Some 
chroniclers  maintain  that  the  French  overpowered 
it;  others  are  as  certain  that  the  settlers  moved 
to  Conception  Bay,  and  there  established  themselves 


The   Mother  327 


so  securely  that,  even  to-day,  descendants  of  those 
Triggets  and  those  Donnellys  cultivate  their  little 
crops,  cure  their  fish,  and  sail  their  fore-and-afters 
around  the  coast  to  St.  John's. 


THE   END. 


announcement 

of  Mtto  fiction 


Haunters  of  the  Silences.    BY  CHARLES  G. 

D.  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  Red  Fox,"  ««  The  Watchws  of 
the  Trails,"  etc. 

Cloth,  one  volume,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Liv- 
ingston Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color      .    $2.00 

The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberts's  new  collection  are  the  strong- 
est and  best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely 
met  with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent  "  In  the  Silences," 
where  they  are  the  supreme  rulers.  Mr.  Roberts  has  writ- 
ten of  them  sympathetically,  as  always,  but  with  fine  regard 
for  the  scientific  truth. 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  His  animal  stories  are  marvels  of  sympathetic  science  and 
literary  exactness."  —  New  York  World. 

I 


L.   C.   PAGE   AND  COMPANY'S 


The    Lady  of  the    Blue    Motor.      By 

G.  SIDNEY  PATERNOSTER,  author  of  "  The   Cruise  of 
the  Motor-Boat  Conqueror,"  "  The  Motor  Pirate,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  John  C. 
Frohn  . $1-50 

The  Lady  of  the  Blue  Motor  is  an  audacious  heroine 
who  drove  her  mysterious  car  at  breakneck  speed.  Her 
plea  for  assistance  in  an  adventure  promising  more  than  a 
spice  of  danger  could  not  of  course  be  disregarded  by  any 
gallant  fellow  motorist.  Mr.  Paternoster's  hero  rose 
promptly  to  the  occasion.  Across  France  they  tore  and 
across  the  English  Channel.  There,  the  escapade  past,  he 
lost  her. 

Mr.  Paternoster,  however,  is  generous,  and  allows  the 
reader  to  follow  their  separate  adventures  until  the  Lady  of 
the  Blue  Motor  is  found  again  and  properly  vindicated  of 
all  save  womanly  courage  and  affection.  A  unique  ro- 
mance, one  continuous  exciting  series  of  adventure. 


Clementina's  Highwayman.    By  ROBERT 

NEILSON  STEPHENS,  author  of  "  The  Flight  of  Geor- 
giana,"  "  An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated          .         .         .         .     $1.50 

Mr.  Stephens  has  put  into  his  new  book,  "  Clementina's 
Highwayman,"  the  finest  qualities  of  plot,  construction,  and 
literary  finish. 

The  story  is  laid  in  the  mid-Georgian  period.  It  is  a 
dashing,  sparkling,  vivacious  comedy,  with  a  heroine  as 
lovely  and  changeable  as  an  April  day,  and  a  hero  all  ardor 
and  daring. 

The  exquisite  quality  of  Mr.  Stephens's  literary  style 
clothes  the  story  in  a  rich  but  delicate  word-fabric ;  and 
never  before  have  his  setting  and  atmosphere  been  so 
perfect 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


The  Sorceress  Of  Rome.      By  NATHAN  GAL- 
LIZIER,  author  of  "  Castel  del  Monte,"  etc. 
Cloth  decorative,  illustrated         .        .        .        .    $1.50 

The  love-story  of  Otto  III.,  the  boy  emperor,  and  Ste- 
phania,  wife  of  the  Senator  Crescentius  of  Rome,  has 
already  been  made  the  basis  of  various  German  poems  and 
plays. 

Mr.  Gallizier  has  used  it  for  the  main  theme  of  "The 
Sorceress  of  Rome,"  the  second  book  of  his  trilogy  of 
romances  on  the  mediaeval  life  of  Italy.  In  detail  and 
finish  the  book  is  a  brilliant  piece  of  work,  describing 
clearly  an  exciting  and  strenuous  period.  It  possesses  the 
same  qualities  as  "  Castel  del  Monte,"  of  which  the  Chicago 
Record  Herald  said  :  "  There  is  color,  there  is  sumptuous 
word-painting  in  these  pages;  the  action  is  terrific  at  times ; 
vividness  and  life  are  in  every  part;  brilliant  descriptions 
entertain  the  reader ;  mystic  scenes  and  prophecies  give  a 
singular  fascination  to  the  tale,  which  is  strong  and  force- 
ful in  its  portrayal." 


Hester  Of  the   Hills.      By  GROVER  CLAY. 
Cloth  decorative,  illustrated         ....    $1.50 

"  Hester  of  the  Hills  "  has  a  motif  unusual  in  life,  and 
new  in  fiction.  Its  hero,  who  has  only  acquired  his  own 
strength  and  resourcefulness  by  a  lifelong  struggle  against 
constitutional  frailty,  has  come  to  make  the  question  of 
bodily  soundness  his  dominant  thought.  He  resolves  to 
ensure  strong  constitutions  to  his  children  by  marrying  a 
physically  perfect  woman.  After  long  search,  he  finds  this 
ideal  in  Hester,  the  daughter  of  a  "  cracker  squatter,"  of 
the  Ozark  Mountains  of  Missouri.  But,  —  he  forgot  to 
take  into  consideration  that  very  vital  emotion,  love,  which 
played  havoc  with  his  well-laid  plans. 

It  is  an  ingenious  combination  of  practical  realism  and 
imaginative  fiction  worked  out  to  a  thoroughly  delightful 
and  satisfying  climax. 


Z.    C.   PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 


Prisoners  Of  Fortune.  A  TALE  OF  THE  MASSA- 
CHUSETTS BAY  COLONY.  BY  RUEL  PERLEY  SMITH, 
author  of  "  The  Rival  Campers,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  Frank  T. 
Merrill $1-50 

The  period  of  Mr.  Smith's  story  is  the  beginning  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  when  the  shores  of  the  American  col- 
onies were  harassed  and  the  seas  patrolled  by  pirates  and 
buccaneers.  These  robbed  and  spoiled,  and  often  seized 
and  put  to  death,  the  sailors  and  fishers  and  other  humbler 
folk,  while  their  leaders  claimed  friendship  alike  with  South- 
ern planters  and  New  England  merchants,  —  with  whom 
it  is  said  they  frequently  divided  their  spoils. 

The  times  were  stern  and  the  colonists  were  hardy,  but 
they  loved  as  truly  and  tenderly  as  in  more  peaceful  days. 
Thus,  while  the  hero's  adventures  with  pirates  and  his  search 
for  their  hidden  treasure  is  a  record  of  desperate  encounters 
and  daring  deeds,  his  love-story  and  his  winning  of  sweet 
Mary  Vane  is  in  delightful  contrast. 


The  Rome  Express.    BY  MAJOR  ARTHUR  GRIP- 
FITHS,  author  of  "  The  Passenger  from  Calais,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  A.  O. 
Scott $1.25 

A  mysterious  murder  on  a  flying  express  train,  a  wily 
Italian,  a  charming  woman  caught  in  the  meshes  of  circum- 
stantial evidence,  a  chivalrous  Englishman,  and  a  police 
force  with  a  keen  nose  for  the  wrong  clue,  are  the  ingredi- 
ents from  which  Major  Griffiths  has  concocted  a  clever,  up- 
to-date  detective  story.  The  book  is  bright  and  spirited, 
with  rapid  action,  and  consistent  development  which  brings 
the  story  to  a  logical  and  dramatic  ending. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


The  Morning  Glory  Club.    BY  GEORGK  A. 

KYLE.  , 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  A.  O. 
Scott $1-25 

The  doings  of  the  Morning  Glory  Club  will  furnish  genu- 
ine amusement  to  the  reader.  Originally  formed  to  "  ele- 
vate "  the  village,  it  quickly  develops  into  an  exchange  for 
town  gossip.  It  has  a  saving  grace,  however,  in  the  person 
of  motherly  Mrs.  Stout,  the  uncultured  but  sweet-natured 
and  pure-minded  village  philosopher,  who  pours  the  oil  of 
her  saneness  and  charity  on  the  troubled  waters  of  discus* 
sion  and  condemnation. 

It  is  a  series  of  clear  and  interesting  pictures  of  the  hu- 
mor of  village  life. 


The  Chronicles  of  Martin  Hewitt,  De- 
tective. NEW  ILLUSTRATED  EDITION.  BY  AR- 
THUR MORRISON,  author  of  "  The  Green  Diamond,** 
"  The  Red  Triangle,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  six  full-page  drawings  by  W.  Kirk- 
patrick $1.50 

The  success  of  Mr.  Morrison's  recent  books,  "  The  Green 
Diamond  "  and  "  The  Red  Triangle,"  has  led  to  an  impera- 
tive demand  for  the  reissue  of  "  The  Chronicles  of  Martin 
Hewitt,"  which  has  been  out  of  print  for  a  number  of  years. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Martin  Hewitt  is  the  detec- 
tive in  "The  Red  Triangle,"  of  whom  the  New  York 
Tribune  said :  "  Better  than  Sherlock  Holmes."  His  ad- 
ventures in  the  London  slums  were  of  such  a  nature  that  the 
Philadelphia  North  American  said:  "The  reader  who  has 
a  grain  of  fancy  or  imagination  may  be  defied  to  lay  this 
book  down  once  he  has  begun  it  until  the  last  word  is 
reached." 


6  L.  C.  PAGE  *•  COMPANY'S  LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 

Mystery    Island.    By  EDWARD  H.  HURST. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece        .     $1.50 

A  hunting  camp  on  a  swampy  island  in  the  Florida  Ever- 
glades furnishes  the  background  for  this  present-day  tale. 

By  the  murder  of  one  of  their  number,  the  secret  of 
egress  from  the  island  is  lost,  and  the  campers  find  them- 
selves marooned. 

Cut  off  from  civilization,  conventional  veneer  soon  wears 
away.  Love,  hate,  and  revenge  spring  up,  and  after  the 
sterner  passions  have  had  their  sway  the  man  and  the  woman 
are  left  alone  to  fulfil  their  own  destiny. 

While  there  is  much  that  is  unusual  in  the  plot  and  its 
development,  Mr.  Hurst  has  handled  his  subject  with  fine 
delicacy,  and  the  tale  of  their  love  on  the  beautiful  little 
island  is  told  with  deep  sympathy  and  feeling. 


The  Flying  Cloud.  By  MORLEY  ROBERTS, 
author  of  "  The  Promotion  of  the  Admiral,"  "  Rachel 
Marr,"  «  The  Idlers,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece        .    $1.50 

Mr.  Roberts's  new  book  is  much  more  than  a  ripping 
good  sea  story  such  as  might  be  expected  from  the  author 
of  "  The  Promotion  of  the  Admiral."  In  "  The  Flying 
Cloud "  the  waters  and  the  winds  are  gods  personified. 
Their  every  mood  and  phase  are  described  in  words  of  tell- 
ing force.  There  is  no  world  but  the  waste  of  waters. 

Mr.  Roberts  glories  and  exults  in  the  mystery,  the  pas- 
sion, the  strength  of  the  elements,  as  did  the  Viking  chron- 
iclers of  old.  He  understands  them  and  loves  them  and 
interprets  them  as  no  other  writer  has  heretofore  done. 
The  book  is  too  big  for  conventional  phrases.  It  needs 
Mr.  Roberts's  own  richness  of  imagery  and  masterly  ex- 
pression to  describe  adequately  the  word-pictures  in  this 
epic  of  wind  and  waves. 


Selections  from 

L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 

List  of  Fiction 


WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

Each  one  vol.,  library  zamo,  cloth  decorative    .         .         .     $fjo 

The  Flight  of  Georgiana 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  YOUNG  PRETENDER.  Illus- 
trated by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  A  love-story  in  the  highest  degree,  a  dashing  story,  and  a  r»-' 
markably  well  finished  piece  of  work."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  Bright  Face  of  Danger 

Being  an  account  of  some  adventures  of  Henri  de  Launay,  son  of 

the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.     Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  Mr.   Stephens   has  fairly   outdone    himself.       We   thank  him 

heartily.     The   story  is   nothing  if   not   spirited  and  entertaining, 

rational  and  convincing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

The  Mystery  of  Murray  Davenport 

(4Oth  thousand.) 

"  This  is  easily  the  best  thing  that  Mr.  Stephens  has  yet  done. 
Those  familiar  with  his  other  novels  can  best  judge  the  measure  of 
this  praise,  which  is  generous."  —  Buffalo  News. 

Captain  Ravenshaw 

OR,  THE  MAID  OF  CHEAPSIDE.  (sad  thousand.)  A  romance 
of  Elizabethan  London.  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle  and  other 
artists. 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have  we  had 
anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of  romance  and  comedy. 

The  Continental  Dragoon 

A  ROMANCE  OF  PHILIPSE  MANOR  HOUSE  IN  1778.  (5jd 
thousand.)  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

A  stirring  romance  of  the  Revolution,  with  its  scene  laid  on 
neutral  territory. 


L.    C.   PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 


Philip  Winwood 

(;oth  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of  the  Domestic  History  of  an 
American  Captain  in  the  War  of  Independence,  embracing  events 
that  occurred  between  and  during  the  years  1763  and  1785  in 
New  York  and  London.  Illustrated  by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 

An  Enemy  to  the  King 

(70th  thousand.)     From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoirs   of 
the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire."     Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
An   historical  romance  of  the   sixteenth  century,  describing  the 

adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry  III., 

and  on  the  field  with  Henry  IV. 

The  Road  to  Paris 

A  STORY  OF  ADVENTURE.     (35th  thousand.)      Illustrated  by 

H.  C.  Edwards. 

An  historical  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century,  being  an  account 
of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer  of  Jacobite  an- 
cestry. 

A  Gentleman  Player 

His  ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEEN  ELIZA- 
BETH.    (48th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
The  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who  joins  Shakespeare's  com- 
pany of  players,  and  becomes  a  friend  and  protege  of  the  great 
poet. 

WORKS  OF 

CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 

Red  Fox 

THE  STORY  OF  His  ADVENTUROUS  CAREER  IN  THE  RINGWAAK 
WILDS,  AND  OF  His  FINAL  TRIUMPH  OVER  THE  ENEMIES  OF 
His  KIND.  With  fifty  illustrations,  including  frontispiece  in 
color  and  cover  design  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  cloth  decorative $2.00 

"  Infinitely  more  wholesome  reading   than   the   average   tale  of 

sport,  since  it  gives  a  glimpse  of  the  hunt  from  the  point  of  view  of 

the  hunted."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  True  in  substance  but  fascinating   as  fiction.     It  will  interest 

old  and  young,  city-bound  and  free-footed,  those  who  know  animals 

and  those  who  do  not."  —  Chicago  Record- Herald. 
"A  brilliant  chapter  in  natural  history."  —  Philadelphia  North 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


The  Kindred  of  the  Wild 

A  BOOK  OF  ANIMAL  LIFE.  With  fifty-one  full-page  plates  and 
many  decorations  from  drawings  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"  Is  in  many  ways  the  most  brilliant  collection  of  animal  stories 
that  has  appeared;  well  named  and  well  done." — John  Burroughs. 

The  Watchers  of  the  Trails 

A  companion  volume  to  "  The  Kindred  of  the  Wild."  With 
forty-eight  full-page  plates  and  many  decorations  from  drawings 
by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Square  quarto,  decorative  cover $2.00 

"  These  stories  are  exquisite  in  their  refinement,  and  yet  robust 

in  their  appreciation  of  some  of  the  rougher  phases  of  woodcraft. 

Among  the  many  writers  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an 

enviable  place.  —  The  Outlook. 

"  This  is  a  book  full  of  delight.     An  additional  charm  lies  in  Mr. 

Bull's  faithful  and  graphic  illustrations,  which  in  fashion  all   their 

own  tell  the  story  of  the  wild  life,  illuminating  and  supplementing 

the  pen  pictures  of  the  author."  —  Literary  Digest. 

The  Heart  That  Knows 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover         ....    £1.50 
"  A  novel  of  singularly  effective  strength,  luminous   in   literary 
color,  rich  in  its  passionate,  yet  tender  drama."  —  New  York  Globe. 

Earth's  Enigmas 

A  new  edition  of  Mr.  Roberts's  first  volume  of  fiction,  published 
in  1892,  and  out  of  print  for  several  years,  with  the  addition  of 
three  new  stories,  and  ten  illustrations  by  Charles  Livingston 
Bull. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....    $1.50 
"  It    will    rank   high    among  collections   of    short  stories.     In 
« Earth's  Enigmas '  is  a  wider  range  of   subject  than  in  the  '  Kin- 
dred of  the  Wild.'" — Review  from  advance  sheets  of  the  illustrated 
edition  by  Tiffany  Blake  in  the  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

Barbara  Ladd 

With  four  illustrations  by  Frank  Verbeck. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover          ....     $1.50 

"  From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts  lures 

us  on  by  his  rapt  devotion  to  the  changing  aspects  of  Nature  and 

by  his  keen  and  sympathetic  analysis  of  human  character."  —  Boston 

Transcript. 


L.    C.   PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 


Cameron  of  Lochiel 

Translated  from  the  French  of  Philippe  Aubert  de  Gaspe,  with 

frontispiece  in  color  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  12010,  cloth  decorative $1.50 

"  Professor  Roberts  deserves  the  thanks  of  his  reader  for  giving 
a  wider  audience  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  this  striking  bit  of  French 
Canadian  literature."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  It  is  not  often  in  these  days  of  sensational  and  philosophical 
novels  that  one  picks  up  a  book  that  so  touches  the  heart."  — 
Boston  Transcript. 

The  Prisoner  of  Mademoiselle 

With  frontispiece  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  12010,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top      .         .         .        .    $1.50 

A  tale  of  Acadia,  —  a  land  which  is  the  author's  heart's  delight, 
—  of  a  valiant  young  lieutenant  and  a  winsome  maiden,  who  first 
captures  and  then  captivates. 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  a  story  that  makes  one  grow  younger,  more 
innocent,  more  light-hearted.  Its  literary  quality  is  impeccable. 
It  is  not  every  day  that  such  a  heroine  blossoms  into  even  tempo- 
rary existence,  and  the  very  name  of  the  story  bears  a  breath  of 
charm."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  Heart  of  the  Ancient  Wood 

With  six  illustrations  by  James  L.  Weston. 

Library  I2mo,  decorative  cover $1.50 

"One  of  the  most  fascinating  novels  of  recent  days." — Boston 
Journal. 

"  A  classic  twentieth-century  romance."  — New  York  Commercial 
Advertiser. 

The  Forge  in  the  Forest 

Being  the  Narrative  of  the  Acadian  Ranger,  Jean  de  Mer, 
Seigneur  de  Briart,  and  how  he  crossed  the  Black  Abbe,  and  of 
his  adventures  in  a  strange  fellowship.  Illustrated  by  Henry 
Sandham,  R.  C.  A. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top $1.50 

A  story  of  pure  love  and  heroic  adventure. 

By  the  Marshes  of  Minas 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  illustrated  .  .  .  .  £1.50 
Most  of  these  romances  are  in  the  author's  lighter  and  more 

playful   vein;   each   is  a  unit  of  absorbing  interest  and   exquisite 

workmanship. 


LIST  OF  FICTION 


A  Sister  to  Evangeline 

Being  the  Story  of  Yvonne  de  Lamourie,  and  how  she  went  into 
exile  with  the  villagers  of  Grand  Pre. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,   gilt  top,  illustrated     .         .         .         .    $i  .50 
Swift  action,  fresh  atmosphere,  wholesome  purity,  deep  passion, 
and  searching  analysis  characterize  this  strong  novel. 


WORKS  OF 

LILIAN  BELL 

Carolina  Lee 

With  a  frontispiece  in  color  from  an  oil  painting  by  Dora  Wheeler 
Keith.     Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover    .        .         .    $1.50 
"  A  Christian  Science  novel,  full  of  action,  alive  with  incident  and 
brisk  with  pithy  dialogue  and  humor."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South,  refresh- 
ing as  a  breeze  that  blows  through  a  pine  forest." —  Albany  Times- 
Union. 

Hope  Loring 

Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover  ....  $1.50 
"  Tall,  slender,  and  athletic,  fragile-looking,  yet  with  nerves  and 
sinews  of  steel  under  the  velvet  flesh,  frank  as  a  boy  and  tender  and 
beautiful  as  a  woman,  free  and  independent,  yet  not  bold  —  such  is 
'  Hope  Loring,'  by  long  odds  the  subtlest  study  that  has  yet  been 
made  of  the  American  girl."  —  Dorothy  Dix,  in  the  New  York 
American. 

Abroad  with  the  Jimmies 

With  a  portrait,  in  duogravure,  of  the  author. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover         ....    $1.50 
"  Full  of  ozone,  of  snap,  of  ginger,  of  swing  and  momentum."  — 
Chicago  Evening  Post. 

At  Home  with  the  Jardines 

A  companion  volume  to  "  Abroad  with  the  Jimmies." 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth,  decorative  cover £i-5O 

"  Bits  of  gay  humor,  sunny,  whimsical  philosophy,  and  keen  in- 
dubitable insight  into  the  less  evident  aspects  and  workings  of  pure 
human  nature,  with  a  slender  thread  of  a  cleverly  extraneous  love 
story,  keep  the  interest  of  the  reader  fresh." —  Chicago  Record- 
Herald. 


••     ••  •     I  I    II    III    I  I     I  I    II         II 

A     000  128  812     5 


